5:00pm: Realize that all friends already have plans for New Year's Eve and that I should have made plans, too.
5:30pm: Have eaten only a Powerbar, a handful of nuts, and some alcohol-filled chocolates all day since 5am. Must have burrito.
5:40pm: Arrive at favorite burrito place, find it's closed.
5:50pm: Try second-fav place. No parking.
6:03pm: Decide to try new burrito place. It closed at 6pm.
6:13pm: Find yet another burrito place (I'm determined) and bring it home to enjoy a celebratory meal alone.
7:00pm: Feel like going to sleep from jet lag. Eat more alcohol-filled chocolates instead.
7:22pm: Get text message from friend in Europe. He had a great party, hope I did, too. My air purifier shrieks, and decides to take the rest of 2002 off. Probably 2003, too.
8:00pm: Begin working on music composition, "Auld Lang Sign." Have a full four hours to finish and post it before midnight, no expected interruptions.
8:47pm: Friend from Holland calls. He just got back from an awesome New Year's Eve bash. So what am I doing home, he asked? I eat more chocolates.
9:10pm: E-mail: "You have a new bill [from American Express]." I realize I may have to sell my remaining European chocolates to avoid bankruptcy.
9:11pm: E-mail: "Get a bigger c.o.c.k. now!!!!!" Like I have a lot of use for that tonight.
10:05pm: Friend IM's me. He's depressed. He's really, really depressed. His ex-girlfriend told him that she hates him, she doesn't know why she ever got with him, and she wouldn't care if she dies. At least she can't be faulted for beating around the bush. So he absolutely positively knows where he stands, but he can't stop crying. For three months.
11:45pm: My friend, currently on the east coast, decides to cry on his pillow and says goodnight to me. Realizing that I can barely help myself, much less my friend (and so many other folks who seem to depend upon me for advice and comfort), I decide to cry sitting up. I can be more productive that way at least. Besides, I do my best music composing when I cry.
Midnight: Happy New Year... my first anti-social one in more than 5 years. My song isn't finished. I'm tired. My floor is still strewn with the stuff (mostly chocolates) I dumped from my luggage on Tuesday. My bed is serving as a combination desk and clothes hamper. And I realize I have so much yet to say and do.
2003 will be better. It must.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Winning a girl's heart... almost
So I was in this loud and fun bar in Germany last week with a couple of friends, and this one really cute girl somewhat nearby me kept looking at me and smiling, poking her friends to say something, looking back, and so on.
I smiled back, of course, and was tempted to actually go over and buy her a drink or something equally chivalrous/stereotypical/dumb, when she leaned over and said something to me.
I understand some German, but it's been years since I lived in Germany and it was hard to hear her over the din. I politely asked her to repeat what she said, and she did so, but I was still puzzled.
One of the friends I was with noticed the confusion and helpfully translated. "She wants you to take a picture of her and her friends" he said.
Now I was even more confused. I didn't have a camera (my wonderful Olympus 3030z was stolen in Estonia and not yet replaced), so I didn't know what she could be talking about.
Then, as I realized that I was holding my somewhat-biggish Palm phone in my hands, it hit me. She thought I had one of those camera phones!
I explained back to her that, sorry, it was a Palm phone, not a camera phone. Blank look. I clarified, no, it cannot take pictures.
She looked at me with an expression of distinct disappointment after learning that I had a geek phone, not a camera phone. It was clear that being able to surf the net and access my appointments and to do list and even play Bejeweled wouldn't win back her interest or attention.
I went back to drinking with my friends, humbled, saddened, and single.
I smiled back, of course, and was tempted to actually go over and buy her a drink or something equally chivalrous/stereotypical/dumb, when she leaned over and said something to me.
I understand some German, but it's been years since I lived in Germany and it was hard to hear her over the din. I politely asked her to repeat what she said, and she did so, but I was still puzzled.
One of the friends I was with noticed the confusion and helpfully translated. "She wants you to take a picture of her and her friends" he said.
Now I was even more confused. I didn't have a camera (my wonderful Olympus 3030z was stolen in Estonia and not yet replaced), so I didn't know what she could be talking about.
Then, as I realized that I was holding my somewhat-biggish Palm phone in my hands, it hit me. She thought I had one of those camera phones!
I explained back to her that, sorry, it was a Palm phone, not a camera phone. Blank look. I clarified, no, it cannot take pictures.
She looked at me with an expression of distinct disappointment after learning that I had a geek phone, not a camera phone. It was clear that being able to surf the net and access my appointments and to do list and even play Bejeweled wouldn't win back her interest or attention.
I went back to drinking with my friends, humbled, saddened, and single.
Monday, December 30, 2002
Candy man
This picture shows my crazy candy purchasing from Germany from Christmastime 2001, but this year was much the same... perhaps even worse. Over $80 worth of candy. Just don't tell mama, er, don't tell my dentist!
So WHY do I bring so much chocolate back from Europe twice yearly? That's easy!
1) It's GOOD chocolate! Once you try European chocolate, you'll never go back to (ugh!) Hershey's crap.
2) It's not that expensive when you buy it in Europe. An entire pack of Hanuta (a 12'er) is $1.43 at the Walmart in Germany. That's just 12 cents per delightfully delicious chocolate wafer cookie.
3) It's a great way to make new friends ;-). Trust me, I'll have a sack-full of Hanutas when I go dancing this week, and for every charming follow I dance with, there'll be a little chocolate offering.
Regarding #3, I have experience in this area, and I've also learned an important lesson. Witness this pivotal conversation from last year:
BEAUTIFUL GIRL: Hey, I remember you! You're the one who gave me that vodka chocolate.
ME, BLURTING STUPIDLY: Uh, um... yeah, I gave that to lots of people. What's your name again?
As Homer Simpson would say... D'oh!
Sunday, December 29, 2002
Returning from Europe soon
I'm in Germany now, and will add entries here when I return in a few days.
In the meantime, I wish you all the best for the holiday season and the coming New Year!
In the meantime, I wish you all the best for the holiday season and the coming New Year!
Sunday, December 22, 2002
Brief injury update
Since I'm leaving for Europe tomorrow, I decided to see a doctor to make sure I'm all a-ok after getting slugged in the jaw.
Aside from the expected bruising and the related pain, I'm fine. And I got a flu shot and tetanus shot for good measure.
Aside from the expected bruising and the related pain, I'm fine. And I got a flu shot and tetanus shot for good measure.
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Disbelief, anger, pain in a Moby moment
I was assaulted tonight.
I'm angry. I'm confused. And I hurt, despite the ice and double dose of Aleve pills.
I was walking back to my car this evening after a really fun dance, and just as I turned the corner, a random group of guys approached me and one of them slugged me hard on the side of my face.
I went down hard on the cement. Tore up my new slacks. And I look like a lopsided chipmunk right now.
But more than anything, I'm just asking myself WHY. At the risk of sounding whiney, it's just unfair. I had a great night. I was nice to people. They were nice to me. I didn't do anything to provoke getting punched. I didn't try to kiss anyone's girlfriend, I didn't cop an attitude to people passing by, nothing. It seems just so, well, random to turn a corner and BAM!
And then there's the anger. I don't want to kill these guys, but I'd enjoy practicing some of my kickboxing moves on them, one by one. I want to teach them a lesson. I want them to hurt. Even though I know this wouldn't work, I want them to be sorry, dammit.
But at the bottom of it all, maybe I just want to ask them why. Was I just a random yuppie target-with-a-tie? Did I look too happy? Why did they feel the need to lash out like that?
And why do I care anyway? Why is WHY so important? Would I really feel that much better if I could piece together order and reason out of this violent mini-chaos? Would it make any difference in the way I live my life?
Perhaps this is merely a reminder that life is not only not 'fair'... it's not logical. I'm not sure if there's a moral somewhere in that, but at least it's good to know and take to heart.
I'm angry. I'm confused. And I hurt, despite the ice and double dose of Aleve pills.
I was walking back to my car this evening after a really fun dance, and just as I turned the corner, a random group of guys approached me and one of them slugged me hard on the side of my face.
I went down hard on the cement. Tore up my new slacks. And I look like a lopsided chipmunk right now.
But more than anything, I'm just asking myself WHY. At the risk of sounding whiney, it's just unfair. I had a great night. I was nice to people. They were nice to me. I didn't do anything to provoke getting punched. I didn't try to kiss anyone's girlfriend, I didn't cop an attitude to people passing by, nothing. It seems just so, well, random to turn a corner and BAM!
And then there's the anger. I don't want to kill these guys, but I'd enjoy practicing some of my kickboxing moves on them, one by one. I want to teach them a lesson. I want them to hurt. Even though I know this wouldn't work, I want them to be sorry, dammit.
But at the bottom of it all, maybe I just want to ask them why. Was I just a random yuppie target-with-a-tie? Did I look too happy? Why did they feel the need to lash out like that?
And why do I care anyway? Why is WHY so important? Would I really feel that much better if I could piece together order and reason out of this violent mini-chaos? Would it make any difference in the way I live my life?
Perhaps this is merely a reminder that life is not only not 'fair'... it's not logical. I'm not sure if there's a moral somewhere in that, but at least it's good to know and take to heart.
Friday, December 20, 2002
Lindy Hop Greatness
A friend of mine recently posted a note on the Bay Area Lindy Hop board called SwingTalk, asking who people thought were "Lindy Hop Greats."
I responded with the following, which -- although it contains the names of some local (San Francisco) talent -- should still serve as an interesting view into what I perceive as Lindy Hop 'greatness.'
---
Greatest Lindy Hoppers... damn, that's a toughie.
For starters, it's very hard and controversial to define "great."
Looks great
There are those who just LOOK amazing no matter what they're dancing to or who they're dancing with.
Example: Jennifer Balderama. With her ballet background, broad smile, and super styling, she's great fun to watch.
Feels great
Some folks may look less flashy, but have the most incredibly solid and comfortable lead in the world.
Example: Chad Kubo. Every follow I know that has danced with him raves about his lead. And I've seen him lead the most absolute-beginners and make them totally shine.
Acts great
There are those who make you feel like a million bucks when you're dancing with them. A combination of natural warmth, well-placed and sincere compliments, and general friendliness does the trick.
Example: Brandee Selck. Any leads that haven't danced with her... you're missing out. One other guy I know that took private lessons lessons with her marveled, "It's like therapy. I go in depressed and I come out feeling good."
Interprets great
Musicality. Some folks have it, some don't. The folks that REALLY have it are able to play with both their partners and their own bodies in a way that complements the music without being a boring 'slave' to the breaks.
Example: The Donnelly Brothers, Elliot and Owen. These two make Lindy fun by entertaining their partners (and onlookers) with creative yet leadable interpretations of the music.
---
So, given all this, Randy, I find it hard if not impossible to pin a label of All Time Great(s) on folks, given the diverse aspects of 'greatness.' In particular, I think it'd be disingenuous to give such praise to someone my friends and I have never danced with. After all, I think we've all experienced "amazing" dancers who look fab on the dance floor but can't lead/follow worth a damn. Or who can't seem to smile. Or who are so arrogant that they make dancing with them a DISpleasure.
Greatness is subjective and complex. Personally, I think all of us must find 'greatness' within ourselves and those we connect most tightly with. :-)
I responded with the following, which -- although it contains the names of some local (San Francisco) talent -- should still serve as an interesting view into what I perceive as Lindy Hop 'greatness.'
---
Greatest Lindy Hoppers... damn, that's a toughie.
For starters, it's very hard and controversial to define "great."
Looks great
There are those who just LOOK amazing no matter what they're dancing to or who they're dancing with.
Example: Jennifer Balderama. With her ballet background, broad smile, and super styling, she's great fun to watch.
Feels great
Some folks may look less flashy, but have the most incredibly solid and comfortable lead in the world.
Example: Chad Kubo. Every follow I know that has danced with him raves about his lead. And I've seen him lead the most absolute-beginners and make them totally shine.
Acts great
There are those who make you feel like a million bucks when you're dancing with them. A combination of natural warmth, well-placed and sincere compliments, and general friendliness does the trick.
Example: Brandee Selck. Any leads that haven't danced with her... you're missing out. One other guy I know that took private lessons lessons with her marveled, "It's like therapy. I go in depressed and I come out feeling good."
Interprets great
Musicality. Some folks have it, some don't. The folks that REALLY have it are able to play with both their partners and their own bodies in a way that complements the music without being a boring 'slave' to the breaks.
Example: The Donnelly Brothers, Elliot and Owen. These two make Lindy fun by entertaining their partners (and onlookers) with creative yet leadable interpretations of the music.
---
So, given all this, Randy, I find it hard if not impossible to pin a label of All Time Great(s) on folks, given the diverse aspects of 'greatness.' In particular, I think it'd be disingenuous to give such praise to someone my friends and I have never danced with. After all, I think we've all experienced "amazing" dancers who look fab on the dance floor but can't lead/follow worth a damn. Or who can't seem to smile. Or who are so arrogant that they make dancing with them a DISpleasure.
Greatness is subjective and complex. Personally, I think all of us must find 'greatness' within ourselves and those we connect most tightly with. :-)
Thursday, December 19, 2002
The Sacramento Lindy Exchange 2002
This past weekend, I went to something called a Lindy Exchange in Sacramento, California.
What is a Lindy Exchange?
Basically, one town insanely decides to invite the rest of the world to visit its weekly dance venues, adding in some special events to sweeten the deal. Individual dancers in that town offer to host visitors at their homes, and also plan various dance and non-dance events throughout the weekend. Sleep is something people joke about, but don't partake in too much during these weekends, and when they do, it's usually of the afternoon nap variety, followed by another 9pm-2am dance, 2am-6am "afterhours party" (which, gee, also usually includes dancing AND watching videos of dance competitions), which is then sometimes followed by an "afterhours party breakfast." Rinse, repeat, over the course of three days.
Not surprisingly, a great many of the victims, er, participants of these exchanges happen to be young vibrant college kids. However, there are also a good number of us old(er) farts who think that the young whippersnappers are nuts, and greatly enjoy being nuts alongside them.
Why would anyone want to spend dozens of hours doing dance-related things in a weekend? Hell if I know! Despite mysteriously having a joyous time over the weekend, I'm still trying to logically analyze the allure.
Perhaps there's just something infectious about being surrounded by AND acting upon music music music , along with sweaty bodies and reduced inhibitions... more from exhaustion than drunkeness (though, admittedly, there's a smattering of that, too). Throw in the fact that there are gobs of attractive, talented, and extroverted late teens and 20somethings (and those who fit right in), and you've got one scandalous, exciting, goofy, entertaining, and generally fulfilling weekend.
Sleep-deprived and generally giddy folks manage to come up with some of the most amusing and surprising moves... and their dancing, too, somehow becomes more creative as well. Blacks flirt with whites, 18 year-olds hang with 30 year olds without being looked down upon, girls kiss girls without enduring any more teasing than those girls kissing guys, and so on.
And oh yes, the dancing! Along with the enjoyable social dancing, there are usually some performances by the Rock Stars of Lindy, some of whom you might be lucky enough to dance with yourself later that night. One particularly insane trio performed something that could best be described as gymnastical Jungle Lindy... with one guy dressed (credibly) as Tarzan rhythmically whooping it up with an amazingly talented Jane and crazily limber Monkey. Lifting, flipping, flying, splatting, dragging, flinging... oh, and dancing... wonderous dancing! I hope to soon have a copy of their performance online to show off to you humble readers. And to think that I've now danced with two of the three of those performers! Woo hoo!
Heck, why don't I go all out and detail the exchange bit by bit.
Friday afternoon, the skies opened up, and God Cried. Or he decided to take a hell of a blustery long cold shower. Or both. I debated whether to take Amtrak up to Sacramento or brave the roads... post-work and ski-weekend traffic (to Tahoe) and crazed-drivers-in-rainstorm all rolled into one. Tempting fate, I chose the latter.
At 10:30, or so, I arrived into Elk Grove (the near-Sac location of the first evening dance) and finally arriving at the correct street, I searched for an elegant ballroom, or at least a 2-story edifice that looked like a Place of Dance.
I drove back. And forth. And back again. No dice. Finally, as the storm intensified further, I decided to pull into a the parking lot of a local strip mall and call 411. No listing. Frustrated and dejected, I rolled my head back, and peered out the window, only to notice... oh man... here's the Elk Grove Ballroom... in a STRIP MALL! The entrance looked no different than the doors usually labeled, "SmallTown Dental Care" or "Betty Sue's Sewing Shop." Luckily, the interior was at least a bit more grand. And dry. And warm. Mmmmm :-)
I walked in, and that's when it hit me. HIGH SCHOOL! I was back in high school. I've walked into this crowd of a couple hundred attractive young people dancing, and I've got to get up my guts to somehow break in, ask someone to dance. I did.
My mission was also to find Katy, the Housing Coordinator who was also, perhaps uncoincidentally, the host for one woman and four guys, including me. I had never met Katy before... I had no idea what she looked like, and also no idea how to get to her home. Luckily, I did manage to find her at the ballroom.
But I wasn't ready to go "home" yet, no sirree! There was still the Afterhours party at Peter's Palace. Actually, a large wharehouse area converted into a strangely catacomb'ish multi-room multi-floor Bachelor Pad, the legendary home not only of Peter and his Plentiful Parties, but also of the aforementioned Tarzan and one other guy I never remember meeting. Plus a hot tub that has, as legend has it, been 'blessed' by large sometimes-naked crowds and little cleaning. Hmm.
Tonight, though, most people were largely ignoring the hot tub (except for a couple of lucky guys enjoying the company of several buxomly-bikini'd babes), instead opting to -- eeek! -- dance some more and also order drinks for the ridiculously well-stocked bar upstairs. Much later into the night (actually morning), we retired to the Red Room to listen to Peter and his Posse sing about, ahem, Pussy, aided by the sharp vocal skills and fine lyrical memory of his ex-girlfriend. Peter, I posit, will not become President. Then again...
Finding my way to the neighboring city of Davis, I drove to the home of Katy (who had just recently left the party as well) around 6am, still wired from and bewildered by my first-evening exchange-de-virginizing experience. Tiptoeing quietly up to her room and trying unsuccessfully to squeeze into a clearly-junior-sized borrowed sleeping bag, I managed to wake up my poor hostess, who then -- much to my amazement, generously invited me to jump into bed with her and her crazy feline. Yes, this is the same cat I described in an earlier journal entry that had a cranium fetish.
Seriously, though, I was and am amazed and grateful at the trust of Lindy women like Katy, inviting guys they don't know into their home and -- at least until I was ousted the following night to trade spots with one of the other guests -- in their bed. And in case it's not already perfectly clear, let me clarify that sleeping was all we did. While it's been said that "it's not really a Lindy Exchange unless you exchange more than dancing"... for my part I was content to have beautiful women in my arms vertically during waking hours, and then sandwich myself amongst warm blankets and a pillow horizontally in my limited sleeping hours.
Given the continuing downpour outside, the picnic scheduled for Saturday afternoon was cancelled and replaced by an afternoon dance and a few bouts of laser tag. Though I was tempted to attend one or both events, I opted to lol around in bed for a while, take a leisurely shower, and then chat with my roommates for a bit, resting up for another big night.
Apparently, a great many ants were interested in similar activities, deciding to join me in the bathroom while I showered, likely sharing pleasantries with one another all the while.
"Gee, Herman, isn't this bowl of cat food delicious? And all this water! It's much warmer than that wintry ickiness outside!"
"Oh yes, Berman, what a delightful party! Don't you just love Lindy Exchanges? So who brought the boombox? I'm all ready to enjoy some.... !!!!!!!!!!!RAID?!?!?!?!?!?! OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
With a spring in my step and a crunch of dead ants under my feet, I met my roommates downstairs for some tea and shared powerbars, figuring out directions to the evening venue in Sacramento.
Once again, I had the joy of dancing with plentiful talented, friendly, and attractive women, including some who fled their native snowy New York for the blastfully wintry Sacramento. This is where we were treated to the earlier-described Jungle Lindy performance, along with a blues routine by Peter and Kristin that recently won them 1st or 2nd place in a national dance competition. Lastly, we were awed by a hip-hop-lindy performance by the incomparable Owen and Katie, of the fantastic dance troupe Loose Change.
After a live band and yet more social dancing, this Saturday evening party finished up around 4am. It was proposed that I party at Peter's Palace again, but I was at least partially pooped, preferring not to push myself, so I plodded back to Katy's place, hoping ants were not having an afterhours party in my sleeping bag.
Fate shined on me, and the Sunday afternoon party was being held at Katy's Casa! I marveled as this fella Mark made incredibly delicious and complex sushi from scratch, along with heavenly crispy tempura with a batter made from home-brewed beer!
Aside from eating sushi, we did what I began to notice was rather prevalent at Lindy parties: We watched videos of dance competitions. Now I can understand this to some degree; we've all got a common Love, and besides, many of our friends and colleagues are actually FEATURED (and sometimes featured winners) in these videos. But at the same time, it seems a bit much. At least on my end, there's only so much swing music and dancing I can take in a weekend. So for the most part, I turned my back on the tele, and was proud to consistently and reliably offer my services as a sushi taste tester, chatting and munching, munching and chatting, and yeah, flirting at least a little bit. What's a Lindy Exchange without flirting?!
Then the idea was floated to go do some bowling before the evening dance and afterhours party, and I thought to myself, ah ha! Something non-dance related. This is good, even though I suck at bowling even worse than I suck at dancing.
Luckily, I was in sucky company, so to speak. Excepting the maddeningly-striking Jeremy, whom we all rightly suspected as being an expert the minute we saw his bowling bag, we were pretty much equally "talented" and had no less fun because of it.
Of course, I should have known better than to assume that we could somehow go without Lindy for a full hour or two. Andrew, clearly sympathizing with the personable Tiffany who was, to put it bluntly, sucking bowling-wise even more than the rest of us, decided to utilize her as part of a bowling-Lindy experiment. Everything was fun and fine, until the Andrew and Tiffany combo resulted in a ball being slung-shot into a neighboring gutter at somehow miniscule traveling speeds. Not wanting to wait 37 minutes for the ball to complete its run down the wrong lane, Tiffany deftly danced after it, one leg in each gutter, only to be faced with a polite yet firm and stunned admonishment from one of the bowling hall's staff. Tiffany, a rather fair-complexioned beauty, turned a shade of red more tomato'y than I've seen a human turn before. This did not, however, put a stop to her bowling-dance-mate's experimentations, which -- miraculously -- did not involve lanes other than their own after that. Furthermore, Andrew's Flying Squirrel(tm) maneuver resulted in actually knocking over a couple of pins, though still not enough to beat Jeremy's score... which was approximately the same as the combined scores of the rest of us. In fairness, though, Jeremy would not win any dance awards from HIS bowling.
Afterwards, we mosied on over to the Davis "Grad" -- a local bar that looked like something out of one of those movies. Yeah, that one. With people dancing on the tables, too, except we weren't pouring water or beer or anything like that on ourselves. Just wet from lots of sweat. Lindy is, after all, a rather athletic dance. We ended up our night -- there, at least -- with the obligatory group photo (warning: large half-meg file!), followed by a mad dash to our rain-pounded cars.
My ride, Rebecca, had the good sense to have us warm up via the In-n-out Drive thru. For those of you unblessed enough to not know about In-n-Out, it's a fast-food burger place, but unlike any fast food you've ever had. It's fresh, cheap, and, well, not really all that fast. And their menu is wonderously small yet satisfying: Hamburgers, fries, shakes, and sodas. That's it. Period. And no fancy avocado-bacon-chili-froo-froo burgers or anything like that. Just got ol' solid burgers with basic trimmings and fries that are actually made from three ingredients: potatoes (sliced when you order), vegetable oil, and salt. Yum!
Then we were off to the place of Ria, Dan and (the other) Adam for what was to be a strange and revelatory night. After hours of munching, dancing, and watching dance videos, the power flickered off and we were left, pretty much, with just each other and no music.
Well, the no-music part was short-lived, because the Rock Star (violinist, singer, award-winning dancer party palace guy) Peter decided to start us off on an ad-libbed a cappella version of the jazz standard "Fever" which we executed with great flare and goofiness combined. From there, things went downhill -- or uphill or sideways, depending upon your point of view, I suppose.
With many girls laying on top of guys (which is less dirty than it sounds, honest) at around 5 or 6 in the morning, we were treated to an oral history of the Sacramento Swing scene, which -- according to testimony -- was starkly similar to non-dancing "swing" scenes during and around the "'98 Summer of Love." "Let's face it," professed/bragged a former 21-year-old-fresh-out-of-Christian-college virgin, "A lot of us got into this because we could break the ice and get close to girls. When you go to a Bump and Grind [non-Lindy] club, it's a lot harder to ask for someone's number. But here, you see the same people every week! Then it's not a big deal to, hey, let's go hang out at my place..."
In order to prove his point, this fella took increasingly baudy polls of the present populace, asking questions like, "Who here has kissed more than two people in one Lindy evening?" ... "...two people of different genders...?" then approaching worse-dom with questions like, "Who has had sex [with someone in the Sac Lindy scene] in someone else's bed? No, not your partners!"
This was trailed closely by increasingly naughty tales of debauchery, egalitarian "conquest" (equally practiced by men and assertive women alike), and mistaken identity. The lights soon came back on, people shrieked, and it was a mere few seconds until they were shut off again, plunging us back into candlelight and non-ghost-story oratory.
Reinvigorated by the renewed darkness, one of the guys inexplicably bragged about the sizeable size of his manhood, offering -- just in case there were sagging doubts -- solid references.
Perhaps playing off the unspoken "would you like your eggs fertilized or unfertilized," some kindly soul -- likely made hungry by the prolonged storytelling -- volunteered to make breakfast for everyone. "Give me money," he suggested, "and I'll go buy as much stuff as I can and come back here and cook for everyone."
This being around 7am, my sleep instincts were stronger than my hunger impulses, so I decided not to stick around. From what I understand, though, this guy was indeed good to his word.
I, on the other hand, spent a few blissful hours in dreamland (sans cranium-hugging cat), and the next day (Monday), drove home, appreciating the lack of afternoon traffic and pondering the wonders of my first-ever Lindy Exchange. Like a college party but without the annoying frat-boy atmosphere, like a long late night dance but with performances and more craziness, like a sleepover without parents but with dance videos instead of pornos or horror films, Lindy Exchanges clearly defy succinct explanation and definition. You must simply live them to understand.
In the meantime, I hope this blog entry has managed to inform and entertain without disclosing too much. And no, I will not give out Scottie's phone number. He currently has a charming girlfriend. Sorry.
What is a Lindy Exchange?
Basically, one town insanely decides to invite the rest of the world to visit its weekly dance venues, adding in some special events to sweeten the deal. Individual dancers in that town offer to host visitors at their homes, and also plan various dance and non-dance events throughout the weekend. Sleep is something people joke about, but don't partake in too much during these weekends, and when they do, it's usually of the afternoon nap variety, followed by another 9pm-2am dance, 2am-6am "afterhours party" (which, gee, also usually includes dancing AND watching videos of dance competitions), which is then sometimes followed by an "afterhours party breakfast." Rinse, repeat, over the course of three days.
Not surprisingly, a great many of the victims, er, participants of these exchanges happen to be young vibrant college kids. However, there are also a good number of us old(er) farts who think that the young whippersnappers are nuts, and greatly enjoy being nuts alongside them.
Why would anyone want to spend dozens of hours doing dance-related things in a weekend? Hell if I know! Despite mysteriously having a joyous time over the weekend, I'm still trying to logically analyze the allure.
Perhaps there's just something infectious about being surrounded by AND acting upon music music music , along with sweaty bodies and reduced inhibitions... more from exhaustion than drunkeness (though, admittedly, there's a smattering of that, too). Throw in the fact that there are gobs of attractive, talented, and extroverted late teens and 20somethings (and those who fit right in), and you've got one scandalous, exciting, goofy, entertaining, and generally fulfilling weekend.
Sleep-deprived and generally giddy folks manage to come up with some of the most amusing and surprising moves... and their dancing, too, somehow becomes more creative as well. Blacks flirt with whites, 18 year-olds hang with 30 year olds without being looked down upon, girls kiss girls without enduring any more teasing than those girls kissing guys, and so on.
And oh yes, the dancing! Along with the enjoyable social dancing, there are usually some performances by the Rock Stars of Lindy, some of whom you might be lucky enough to dance with yourself later that night. One particularly insane trio performed something that could best be described as gymnastical Jungle Lindy... with one guy dressed (credibly) as Tarzan rhythmically whooping it up with an amazingly talented Jane and crazily limber Monkey. Lifting, flipping, flying, splatting, dragging, flinging... oh, and dancing... wonderous dancing! I hope to soon have a copy of their performance online to show off to you humble readers. And to think that I've now danced with two of the three of those performers! Woo hoo!
Heck, why don't I go all out and detail the exchange bit by bit.
Friday afternoon, the skies opened up, and God Cried. Or he decided to take a hell of a blustery long cold shower. Or both. I debated whether to take Amtrak up to Sacramento or brave the roads... post-work and ski-weekend traffic (to Tahoe) and crazed-drivers-in-rainstorm all rolled into one. Tempting fate, I chose the latter.
At 10:30, or so, I arrived into Elk Grove (the near-Sac location of the first evening dance) and finally arriving at the correct street, I searched for an elegant ballroom, or at least a 2-story edifice that looked like a Place of Dance.
I drove back. And forth. And back again. No dice. Finally, as the storm intensified further, I decided to pull into a the parking lot of a local strip mall and call 411. No listing. Frustrated and dejected, I rolled my head back, and peered out the window, only to notice... oh man... here's the Elk Grove Ballroom... in a STRIP MALL! The entrance looked no different than the doors usually labeled, "SmallTown Dental Care" or "Betty Sue's Sewing Shop." Luckily, the interior was at least a bit more grand. And dry. And warm. Mmmmm :-)
I walked in, and that's when it hit me. HIGH SCHOOL! I was back in high school. I've walked into this crowd of a couple hundred attractive young people dancing, and I've got to get up my guts to somehow break in, ask someone to dance. I did.
My mission was also to find Katy, the Housing Coordinator who was also, perhaps uncoincidentally, the host for one woman and four guys, including me. I had never met Katy before... I had no idea what she looked like, and also no idea how to get to her home. Luckily, I did manage to find her at the ballroom.
But I wasn't ready to go "home" yet, no sirree! There was still the Afterhours party at Peter's Palace. Actually, a large wharehouse area converted into a strangely catacomb'ish multi-room multi-floor Bachelor Pad, the legendary home not only of Peter and his Plentiful Parties, but also of the aforementioned Tarzan and one other guy I never remember meeting. Plus a hot tub that has, as legend has it, been 'blessed' by large sometimes-naked crowds and little cleaning. Hmm.
Tonight, though, most people were largely ignoring the hot tub (except for a couple of lucky guys enjoying the company of several buxomly-bikini'd babes), instead opting to -- eeek! -- dance some more and also order drinks for the ridiculously well-stocked bar upstairs. Much later into the night (actually morning), we retired to the Red Room to listen to Peter and his Posse sing about, ahem, Pussy, aided by the sharp vocal skills and fine lyrical memory of his ex-girlfriend. Peter, I posit, will not become President. Then again...
Finding my way to the neighboring city of Davis, I drove to the home of Katy (who had just recently left the party as well) around 6am, still wired from and bewildered by my first-evening exchange-de-virginizing experience. Tiptoeing quietly up to her room and trying unsuccessfully to squeeze into a clearly-junior-sized borrowed sleeping bag, I managed to wake up my poor hostess, who then -- much to my amazement, generously invited me to jump into bed with her and her crazy feline. Yes, this is the same cat I described in an earlier journal entry that had a cranium fetish.
Seriously, though, I was and am amazed and grateful at the trust of Lindy women like Katy, inviting guys they don't know into their home and -- at least until I was ousted the following night to trade spots with one of the other guests -- in their bed. And in case it's not already perfectly clear, let me clarify that sleeping was all we did. While it's been said that "it's not really a Lindy Exchange unless you exchange more than dancing"... for my part I was content to have beautiful women in my arms vertically during waking hours, and then sandwich myself amongst warm blankets and a pillow horizontally in my limited sleeping hours.
Given the continuing downpour outside, the picnic scheduled for Saturday afternoon was cancelled and replaced by an afternoon dance and a few bouts of laser tag. Though I was tempted to attend one or both events, I opted to lol around in bed for a while, take a leisurely shower, and then chat with my roommates for a bit, resting up for another big night.
Apparently, a great many ants were interested in similar activities, deciding to join me in the bathroom while I showered, likely sharing pleasantries with one another all the while.
"Gee, Herman, isn't this bowl of cat food delicious? And all this water! It's much warmer than that wintry ickiness outside!"
"Oh yes, Berman, what a delightful party! Don't you just love Lindy Exchanges? So who brought the boombox? I'm all ready to enjoy some.... !!!!!!!!!!!RAID?!?!?!?!?!?! OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
With a spring in my step and a crunch of dead ants under my feet, I met my roommates downstairs for some tea and shared powerbars, figuring out directions to the evening venue in Sacramento.
Once again, I had the joy of dancing with plentiful talented, friendly, and attractive women, including some who fled their native snowy New York for the blastfully wintry Sacramento. This is where we were treated to the earlier-described Jungle Lindy performance, along with a blues routine by Peter and Kristin that recently won them 1st or 2nd place in a national dance competition. Lastly, we were awed by a hip-hop-lindy performance by the incomparable Owen and Katie, of the fantastic dance troupe Loose Change.
After a live band and yet more social dancing, this Saturday evening party finished up around 4am. It was proposed that I party at Peter's Palace again, but I was at least partially pooped, preferring not to push myself, so I plodded back to Katy's place, hoping ants were not having an afterhours party in my sleeping bag.
Fate shined on me, and the Sunday afternoon party was being held at Katy's Casa! I marveled as this fella Mark made incredibly delicious and complex sushi from scratch, along with heavenly crispy tempura with a batter made from home-brewed beer!
Aside from eating sushi, we did what I began to notice was rather prevalent at Lindy parties: We watched videos of dance competitions. Now I can understand this to some degree; we've all got a common Love, and besides, many of our friends and colleagues are actually FEATURED (and sometimes featured winners) in these videos. But at the same time, it seems a bit much. At least on my end, there's only so much swing music and dancing I can take in a weekend. So for the most part, I turned my back on the tele, and was proud to consistently and reliably offer my services as a sushi taste tester, chatting and munching, munching and chatting, and yeah, flirting at least a little bit. What's a Lindy Exchange without flirting?!
Then the idea was floated to go do some bowling before the evening dance and afterhours party, and I thought to myself, ah ha! Something non-dance related. This is good, even though I suck at bowling even worse than I suck at dancing.
Luckily, I was in sucky company, so to speak. Excepting the maddeningly-striking Jeremy, whom we all rightly suspected as being an expert the minute we saw his bowling bag, we were pretty much equally "talented" and had no less fun because of it.
Of course, I should have known better than to assume that we could somehow go without Lindy for a full hour or two. Andrew, clearly sympathizing with the personable Tiffany who was, to put it bluntly, sucking bowling-wise even more than the rest of us, decided to utilize her as part of a bowling-Lindy experiment. Everything was fun and fine, until the Andrew and Tiffany combo resulted in a ball being slung-shot into a neighboring gutter at somehow miniscule traveling speeds. Not wanting to wait 37 minutes for the ball to complete its run down the wrong lane, Tiffany deftly danced after it, one leg in each gutter, only to be faced with a polite yet firm and stunned admonishment from one of the bowling hall's staff. Tiffany, a rather fair-complexioned beauty, turned a shade of red more tomato'y than I've seen a human turn before. This did not, however, put a stop to her bowling-dance-mate's experimentations, which -- miraculously -- did not involve lanes other than their own after that. Furthermore, Andrew's Flying Squirrel(tm) maneuver resulted in actually knocking over a couple of pins, though still not enough to beat Jeremy's score... which was approximately the same as the combined scores of the rest of us. In fairness, though, Jeremy would not win any dance awards from HIS bowling.
Afterwards, we mosied on over to the Davis "Grad" -- a local bar that looked like something out of one of those movies. Yeah, that one. With people dancing on the tables, too, except we weren't pouring water or beer or anything like that on ourselves. Just wet from lots of sweat. Lindy is, after all, a rather athletic dance. We ended up our night -- there, at least -- with the obligatory group photo (warning: large half-meg file!), followed by a mad dash to our rain-pounded cars.
My ride, Rebecca, had the good sense to have us warm up via the In-n-out Drive thru. For those of you unblessed enough to not know about In-n-Out, it's a fast-food burger place, but unlike any fast food you've ever had. It's fresh, cheap, and, well, not really all that fast. And their menu is wonderously small yet satisfying: Hamburgers, fries, shakes, and sodas. That's it. Period. And no fancy avocado-bacon-chili-froo-froo burgers or anything like that. Just got ol' solid burgers with basic trimmings and fries that are actually made from three ingredients: potatoes (sliced when you order), vegetable oil, and salt. Yum!
Then we were off to the place of Ria, Dan and (the other) Adam for what was to be a strange and revelatory night. After hours of munching, dancing, and watching dance videos, the power flickered off and we were left, pretty much, with just each other and no music.
Well, the no-music part was short-lived, because the Rock Star (violinist, singer, award-winning dancer party palace guy) Peter decided to start us off on an ad-libbed a cappella version of the jazz standard "Fever" which we executed with great flare and goofiness combined. From there, things went downhill -- or uphill or sideways, depending upon your point of view, I suppose.
With many girls laying on top of guys (which is less dirty than it sounds, honest) at around 5 or 6 in the morning, we were treated to an oral history of the Sacramento Swing scene, which -- according to testimony -- was starkly similar to non-dancing "swing" scenes during and around the "'98 Summer of Love." "Let's face it," professed/bragged a former 21-year-old-fresh-out-of-Christian-college virgin, "A lot of us got into this because we could break the ice and get close to girls. When you go to a Bump and Grind [non-Lindy] club, it's a lot harder to ask for someone's number. But here, you see the same people every week! Then it's not a big deal to, hey, let's go hang out at my place..."
In order to prove his point, this fella took increasingly baudy polls of the present populace, asking questions like, "Who here has kissed more than two people in one Lindy evening?" ... "...two people of different genders...?" then approaching worse-dom with questions like, "Who has had sex [with someone in the Sac Lindy scene] in someone else's bed? No, not your partners!"
This was trailed closely by increasingly naughty tales of debauchery, egalitarian "conquest" (equally practiced by men and assertive women alike), and mistaken identity. The lights soon came back on, people shrieked, and it was a mere few seconds until they were shut off again, plunging us back into candlelight and non-ghost-story oratory.
Reinvigorated by the renewed darkness, one of the guys inexplicably bragged about the sizeable size of his manhood, offering -- just in case there were sagging doubts -- solid references.
Perhaps playing off the unspoken "would you like your eggs fertilized or unfertilized," some kindly soul -- likely made hungry by the prolonged storytelling -- volunteered to make breakfast for everyone. "Give me money," he suggested, "and I'll go buy as much stuff as I can and come back here and cook for everyone."
This being around 7am, my sleep instincts were stronger than my hunger impulses, so I decided not to stick around. From what I understand, though, this guy was indeed good to his word.
I, on the other hand, spent a few blissful hours in dreamland (sans cranium-hugging cat), and the next day (Monday), drove home, appreciating the lack of afternoon traffic and pondering the wonders of my first-ever Lindy Exchange. Like a college party but without the annoying frat-boy atmosphere, like a long late night dance but with performances and more craziness, like a sleepover without parents but with dance videos instead of pornos or horror films, Lindy Exchanges clearly defy succinct explanation and definition. You must simply live them to understand.
In the meantime, I hope this blog entry has managed to inform and entertain without disclosing too much. And no, I will not give out Scottie's phone number. He currently has a charming girlfriend. Sorry.
Worshipping others, hating yourself?
A Chinese friend of mine living in San Francisco has long lamented that he's at a significant dating disadvantage, because so many of his female Asian peers insist upon dating White Guys.
This friend has now, thankfully, found a wonderful (and Chinese) girlfriend, but out of curiosity, I checked out some personal listings on the Bay Area Community site Craigs List and -- to my surprise and dismay -- found that this fella has a legitimate gripe.
Again and again, I saw comments like, "I'm asian, and I'm looking for a white guy between 23-30." Some even apologized in advance for their 'preference' but -- unsurprisingly -- no explanations were forthcoming.
Sure, you hear about the occasional blonde girl with the black fetish, but it seems to me that most of this "diverse" love is one-way... minorities seeking white men and women.
Is this a form of self-hate? And how much of this is caused or exacerbated by media images?
According to Malaysian officials, who recently rejected an advertisement featuring the very white Brad Pitt, the media plays a role in "humiliation against Asians."
Is this a case of chicken and egg? Is the media (over)representation of whites a symptom or a cause of much of the attraction minorities profess for non-minorities?
And either way, who -- if anyone -- should have a hand in 'correcting' these biases? The media? Governments? Independent advocacy groups?
As with so many complex issues, it seems there are no simple solutions.
This friend has now, thankfully, found a wonderful (and Chinese) girlfriend, but out of curiosity, I checked out some personal listings on the Bay Area Community site Craigs List and -- to my surprise and dismay -- found that this fella has a legitimate gripe.
Again and again, I saw comments like, "I'm asian, and I'm looking for a white guy between 23-30." Some even apologized in advance for their 'preference' but -- unsurprisingly -- no explanations were forthcoming.
Sure, you hear about the occasional blonde girl with the black fetish, but it seems to me that most of this "diverse" love is one-way... minorities seeking white men and women.
Is this a form of self-hate? And how much of this is caused or exacerbated by media images?
According to Malaysian officials, who recently rejected an advertisement featuring the very white Brad Pitt, the media plays a role in "humiliation against Asians."
Is this a case of chicken and egg? Is the media (over)representation of whites a symptom or a cause of much of the attraction minorities profess for non-minorities?
And either way, who -- if anyone -- should have a hand in 'correcting' these biases? The media? Governments? Independent advocacy groups?
As with so many complex issues, it seems there are no simple solutions.
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Jackhammer on my head
I recently got back from a big Lindy Exchange and have much to talk about.
But for the moment, let me raise the unique issue of a Cranium-Fetish'd Cat.
When sleeping over at some random girl's place (more on that later), I suddenly felt something warm and fuzzy attach itself to my cranium, whereupon I heard loud jackhammering noises. Attempting to move my head was futile (the cat was stuck), and forcibly lifting the cat resulted in the feline repositioning herself on the back of my neck where her "purring" was like a heavy vibrating furry dust brush, though I admit I haven't actually slept with a heavy vibrating furry dust brush to make a fair comparison. Anyway, is this cat normal, or did my otherwise charming hostess happen to raise a mutant creature?
But for the moment, let me raise the unique issue of a Cranium-Fetish'd Cat.
When sleeping over at some random girl's place (more on that later), I suddenly felt something warm and fuzzy attach itself to my cranium, whereupon I heard loud jackhammering noises. Attempting to move my head was futile (the cat was stuck), and forcibly lifting the cat resulted in the feline repositioning herself on the back of my neck where her "purring" was like a heavy vibrating furry dust brush, though I admit I haven't actually slept with a heavy vibrating furry dust brush to make a fair comparison. Anyway, is this cat normal, or did my otherwise charming hostess happen to raise a mutant creature?
Loving computer viruses
Virus! You have done me a great service, and I thank you. You have humbled me and exalted me, both. Virus, you are the gift that keeps on giving. You are the Santa of the e-generation. Your viral nature has made my holiday season, and I will never forget you, Virus. I will also never again install a plug-in from a Web site I?ve never heard of, and I thank you for that as well.
Merry Christmas, Virus. Let's have lunch.
- Salon.com writer Nick Altebrando, extolling the not-oft-seen benefits of computer viruses.
HOW much spam?
I went away for a weekend, and in just two-and-a-half days, I received 487 spams. *487!*
I had turned off spam pre-filtering, but still... 487 spams. Even when my main spam filter (SpamNet) is activated, 30% of spams still get through and at least 5-10% of my non-spam e-mails are marked as spam, so it's a lose-lose situation.
I wish I knew what the right solution would be.
Is it technical? Could we conceivably charge people one-tenth of a cent for every e-mail they send? Or perhaps charge senders $1 by default, unless they are listed in our addressbook or we affirmatively waive the fee?
Or are legal moves (at the federal level) the answer? Would spamming be a civil offense? Criminal offense? And what would the degree of 'consent' look like?
Definitely no easy answers :-(
I had turned off spam pre-filtering, but still... 487 spams. Even when my main spam filter (SpamNet) is activated, 30% of spams still get through and at least 5-10% of my non-spam e-mails are marked as spam, so it's a lose-lose situation.
I wish I knew what the right solution would be.
Is it technical? Could we conceivably charge people one-tenth of a cent for every e-mail they send? Or perhaps charge senders $1 by default, unless they are listed in our addressbook or we affirmatively waive the fee?
Or are legal moves (at the federal level) the answer? Would spamming be a civil offense? Criminal offense? And what would the degree of 'consent' look like?
Definitely no easy answers :-(
Sunday, December 15, 2002
Is it real or is it Photoshop?
I'm wondering how much of this is real vs. photoshopped silliness.
With news agencies increasingly coming under fire for "embellishing" news and entertainment videos and photographs, is anyone else worried about what's Real and what isn't?
In the meantime, though, check out the link above. Even if only a fraction of the photos are genuine, it's still good for quite a laugh. As the title says, Only in America! :-)
With news agencies increasingly coming under fire for "embellishing" news and entertainment videos and photographs, is anyone else worried about what's Real and what isn't?
In the meantime, though, check out the link above. Even if only a fraction of the photos are genuine, it's still good for quite a laugh. As the title says, Only in America! :-)
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
I hate technology
About an hour ago, I had just written a brilliant entry for this blog. Insightful, funny, and all that other stuff that I may be exaggerating about just a tad, but... hey, it doesn't really matter anymore...
BECAUSE THE DAMN ENTRY HAS GONE POOF INTO THAT GREAT E-NIGHT!
Do you ever wonder whether we're actually saving much time or effort overall with technology vs. that good ol' pen and paper we used to use?
Sure, there are some wonderful things we take for granted now that we'd be very sad without. Like Google. And blogs like this, of course!
But if I actually totaled up the number of hours I spent monthly in Frustration, it'd... well, let's just say it'd be a lot of hours.
- Updating software.
- Troubleshooting why software doesn't work like it's supposed to.
- Trying to translate godawful help documents (if they exist).
- Calling or e-mailing [ISP / Wireless phone company / online music service] to correct overbilling or (justifiably) bitch about lousy service or frequent service outages.
- Realizing that 3 months of your Outlook calendar has just been erased.
- Realizing that the last backup you did was 2 months ago, before entering in a couple dozen holiday-oriented dates.
- Dealing with spam.
- Apologizing to friends you didn't reply to because their note got buried amidst and/or deleted with spam.
I know, I know... this is all hardly part of a novel gripe, that computers were supposed to make our lives easier but they end up causing us to kick random objects nearby instead.
But I'm an uber-geek. I'm supposed to LOVE technology. I evangelize this stuff, teach this stuff, share this stuff.
And yet, on evenings like this when my creative efforts go poof with little warning, I hate technology. And I hate being a hypocrite.
BECAUSE THE DAMN ENTRY HAS GONE POOF INTO THAT GREAT E-NIGHT!
Do you ever wonder whether we're actually saving much time or effort overall with technology vs. that good ol' pen and paper we used to use?
Sure, there are some wonderful things we take for granted now that we'd be very sad without. Like Google. And blogs like this, of course!
But if I actually totaled up the number of hours I spent monthly in Frustration, it'd... well, let's just say it'd be a lot of hours.
- Updating software.
- Troubleshooting why software doesn't work like it's supposed to.
- Trying to translate godawful help documents (if they exist).
- Calling or e-mailing [ISP / Wireless phone company / online music service] to correct overbilling or (justifiably) bitch about lousy service or frequent service outages.
- Realizing that 3 months of your Outlook calendar has just been erased.
- Realizing that the last backup you did was 2 months ago, before entering in a couple dozen holiday-oriented dates.
- Dealing with spam.
- Apologizing to friends you didn't reply to because their note got buried amidst and/or deleted with spam.
I know, I know... this is all hardly part of a novel gripe, that computers were supposed to make our lives easier but they end up causing us to kick random objects nearby instead.
But I'm an uber-geek. I'm supposed to LOVE technology. I evangelize this stuff, teach this stuff, share this stuff.
And yet, on evenings like this when my creative efforts go poof with little warning, I hate technology. And I hate being a hypocrite.
Monday, December 9, 2002
Say my name, say my name!
You know how some stuff goes better with butter?
Or with Van Halen?
Or with snowflakes?
I think greetings and compliments go better with one's name.
Let me explain.
When dancing, I think it's much nicer to hear "Thanks for the dance, Adam" instead of just the more-common "Thanks." It seems to flowly nicely at the invitation-end, too... as in, "Donna, would you like to dance?"
When it's someone I don't know well, I'm flattered that they remember my name, and it seems I'm not the only one who feels this way. I recently saw two beginning follows (dancers) and greeted them by name, and both were surprised and clearly happy that I remembered them.
I think it's nice to hear one's name even from friends or people that have known you for a while. I'm not sure why, but to me at least it does feel good... hearing "Hey Adam!" rather than just "Yo!" or "Hey!" Maybe it brings me back to a time when sitcoms were actually funny, and people shouted, "Norm!"
And while some may disagree, I'm not hurt at all when people ask my name for the second or seventh time. If they care enough to know my name, I think that's great. And I don't think anything less of folks who have trouble remembering names, since I know this is one of my weaknesses (I'm working on it!) and yeah, it's tough when you dance with 30+ people in an evening!
What do you think? Do you feel similarly good when people refer to you by name, or do you instead cringe, visualizing your mom chastising you "Marvin K. Mooney, will you PLEASE GO NOW!"?
Or with Van Halen?
Or with snowflakes?
I think greetings and compliments go better with one's name.
Let me explain.
When dancing, I think it's much nicer to hear "Thanks for the dance, Adam" instead of just the more-common "Thanks." It seems to flowly nicely at the invitation-end, too... as in, "Donna, would you like to dance?"
When it's someone I don't know well, I'm flattered that they remember my name, and it seems I'm not the only one who feels this way. I recently saw two beginning follows (dancers) and greeted them by name, and both were surprised and clearly happy that I remembered them.
I think it's nice to hear one's name even from friends or people that have known you for a while. I'm not sure why, but to me at least it does feel good... hearing "Hey Adam!" rather than just "Yo!" or "Hey!" Maybe it brings me back to a time when sitcoms were actually funny, and people shouted, "Norm!"
And while some may disagree, I'm not hurt at all when people ask my name for the second or seventh time. If they care enough to know my name, I think that's great. And I don't think anything less of folks who have trouble remembering names, since I know this is one of my weaknesses (I'm working on it!) and yeah, it's tough when you dance with 30+ people in an evening!
What do you think? Do you feel similarly good when people refer to you by name, or do you instead cringe, visualizing your mom chastising you "Marvin K. Mooney, will you PLEASE GO NOW!"?
Sunday, December 8, 2002
A naked suggestion
I always knew that Europeans were pretty casual about nakedness, but as seen by this sign in a Spanish youth hostel, they're even encouraging people to flash their toilets!
Wednesday, December 4, 2002
Thiller Amnesia
Not that I recall.
- Michael Jackson's response in court when asked if he had a memory problem, as noted in this AP story.
Tuesday, December 3, 2002
Lawyers, 938; Personal Responsibility, 0
For example, an employee crossing the street might be typing so vigorously into a two-way pager that he would never notice an approaching bus. Would that employee be covered by workers' compensation?
Probably, unless a company policy forbade wandering around typing into pagers, said Lawrence Lorber, a partner at Proskauer Rose in Washington.
- from a New York Times article which suggests to me that soon employee handbooks will also warn against typing on a laptop while biking to work
Beware the Googlewock, my son!
So I was applying to work at Acme. Inc., a fitness-related company that specializes in stuff that is close to my heart (no pun intended). I checked out their Web site and while I didn't find a current job opening that was appropriate for me, I decided to send a cover letter to the HR address listed to suggest some specific online community work I could do for them (and why it'd help their bottom line). I figured that even if my specific offer didn't interest them, they could at least keep my info 'on file,' right?
"pcanthos@acme.com" was the e-mail address listed on their site, and being the enterprising soul I am, I decided to Google "pcanthos." Up came several hits for "Paul Canthos" in a context that clearly demonstrated this was the same guy... with many forum posts dealing with triathalons and nutrition issues! Woo hoo! With such a (likely) rare name unmasked, I could now smartly write, "Dear Mr. Canthos," instead of the more gender neutral, "To whom it may concern."
And I did.
I wrote a passionate and extremely targeted note to Mr. Canthos, detailing how I could increase Acme's profitability by extending their online community and creating valuable e-mail newsletters for them to send to their large and loyal customer base.
And I received a very curt two line reply.
And it was from a PAMELA Canthos.
Oops.
Did I mention that I hate job searching?
"pcanthos@acme.com" was the e-mail address listed on their site, and being the enterprising soul I am, I decided to Google "pcanthos." Up came several hits for "Paul Canthos" in a context that clearly demonstrated this was the same guy... with many forum posts dealing with triathalons and nutrition issues! Woo hoo! With such a (likely) rare name unmasked, I could now smartly write, "Dear Mr. Canthos," instead of the more gender neutral, "To whom it may concern."
And I did.
I wrote a passionate and extremely targeted note to Mr. Canthos, detailing how I could increase Acme's profitability by extending their online community and creating valuable e-mail newsletters for them to send to their large and loyal customer base.
And I received a very curt two line reply.
Please check our website for currently open positions. When you find a position posted that you'd like to be considered for, please send your resume at that time.
And it was from a PAMELA Canthos.
Oops.
Did I mention that I hate job searching?
Sunday, December 1, 2002
A new twist to the 'surprise party' idea
This one guy in the Lindy Hop scene that I know is a nationally renowned and universally respected DJ. He's also got a hell of a cool core set of friends, who helped make a 'surprise Web site' for his 30th birthday:
http://www.jesseis30.com/
While I'm sure many of you reading this blog don't know who Jesse is, I just thought might find the concept of a Web-site-as-gift to be as amusing and fascinating as I do.
http://www.jesseis30.com/
While I'm sure many of you reading this blog don't know who Jesse is, I just thought might find the concept of a Web-site-as-gift to be as amusing and fascinating as I do.
So THAT'S why they're applauding so loudly!
You turn on the TV and the enthusiasm seems so natural, but, my God, it's a wonder they don't stick a hot pepper up your ass.
- the mom of a Salon.com commentator remarks on the excitement on the set of the Dr. Phil talk show
Eggroll, European style
When my wonderful friend that I was staying with in Venray (The Netherlands) suggested that we have eggrolls for dinner, I was a bit skeptical. Surely she knew my appetite was typically bigger than appetizer-size, especially after not eating since lunch!
But wow, those wacky Dutch! To the right you can see just what their idea of an eggroll is. When was the last time YOU saw an eggroll that fills up an entire good-sized plate?!?
Cellophane... Mr. Cellophane
[ As usual, personally identifying info is often obscured to protect the privacy of my friends ]
A dance acquaintance of mine just came back from a Lindy Hop exchange and publicly posted a gushing note with shout-outs to all the guys she fell in Lindy-Love with.
This is not uncommon. On swing boards all over the country, you can read, "Oh man, [so-and-so], I can't wait to dance with you again! And [another person], you can Blues[dance with] me any time, day or night..." and so on and so on ad nauseum.
It really wouldn't be 'nauseum' except for the sour grapes that my name is -- barring exceptional circumstances with odds approximating those of winning the lotto twice in a row -- never going to appear in this context.
It's made all the more frustrating because I have a friend who has at least half-a-dozen women falling in love with him wherever he dances. His list of women who have Lindy Crushes is bigger than my current to-do list. And that's large. Really large. "Oh, Bryant, I am framing that pic of us! You're so hot!" "Bryant, mmm... you're so amazing, four dances in a row with you isn't enough!" "Bryant, when are you coming back to Portland?" And Bryant -- bless his heart -- excitedly tells me about each and every new girl that he has unwittingly under his spell, as if I should be surprised. Maybe Bryant was once dorky and fat and awkward and still can't get over his current success(es). I know he's not rubbing all of this fame and love in out of spite... he's actually a nice fella. But it doesn't make it go down any easier.
In contrast, I'm simply the nice-guy dancer that doesn't pull your arm, doesn't grab your boobs, and, well, doesn't leave much of an impression at all.
I'm not bad. I'm not great. I'm, well, not very memorable on the dance floor.
I'm Mr. Cellophane*. And it's damn depressing.
I'm surrounded by Lindy Rock Stars and I've even had the good fortune to dance with many of them. At a recent dance competition Finals round with 20 of the best dancers in the Bay Area, I noticed with amusement that I had danced with at least half of the women featured.
But that doesn't mean they remember my name. Or ask me to dance. More often, they look right through me, walk right by me.
I admit, this whining entry is in direct contradiction to my earlier entry in which I noted that I had made blissful peace with my dancing mediocrity. So sue me. I'm sick, I'm cranky, and I'm in a DanceSlump as of late.
It happens to the best of us, I know. Plateaus and all. But is it really that common to feel as if you're getting WORSE? Blah.
Right now, I'd even settle for being a controversial figure in dance... you know, one of those guys that people hate to love and love to hate and so on. At least I'd be known for SOMETHING.
So until I either drop someone on her head or cuss someone out or win a competition or do a quadruple spin without falling on my ass, I'm going to just be known for... not being known. Lindy Hop's Mr. Cellophane.
A dance acquaintance of mine just came back from a Lindy Hop exchange and publicly posted a gushing note with shout-outs to all the guys she fell in Lindy-Love with.
This is not uncommon. On swing boards all over the country, you can read, "Oh man, [so-and-so], I can't wait to dance with you again! And [another person], you can Blues[dance with] me any time, day or night..." and so on and so on ad nauseum.
It really wouldn't be 'nauseum' except for the sour grapes that my name is -- barring exceptional circumstances with odds approximating those of winning the lotto twice in a row -- never going to appear in this context.
It's made all the more frustrating because I have a friend who has at least half-a-dozen women falling in love with him wherever he dances. His list of women who have Lindy Crushes is bigger than my current to-do list. And that's large. Really large. "Oh, Bryant, I am framing that pic of us! You're so hot!" "Bryant, mmm... you're so amazing, four dances in a row with you isn't enough!" "Bryant, when are you coming back to Portland?" And Bryant -- bless his heart -- excitedly tells me about each and every new girl that he has unwittingly under his spell, as if I should be surprised. Maybe Bryant was once dorky and fat and awkward and still can't get over his current success(es). I know he's not rubbing all of this fame and love in out of spite... he's actually a nice fella. But it doesn't make it go down any easier.
In contrast, I'm simply the nice-guy dancer that doesn't pull your arm, doesn't grab your boobs, and, well, doesn't leave much of an impression at all.
I'm not bad. I'm not great. I'm, well, not very memorable on the dance floor.
I'm Mr. Cellophane*. And it's damn depressing.
I'm surrounded by Lindy Rock Stars and I've even had the good fortune to dance with many of them. At a recent dance competition Finals round with 20 of the best dancers in the Bay Area, I noticed with amusement that I had danced with at least half of the women featured.
But that doesn't mean they remember my name. Or ask me to dance. More often, they look right through me, walk right by me.
I admit, this whining entry is in direct contradiction to my earlier entry in which I noted that I had made blissful peace with my dancing mediocrity. So sue me. I'm sick, I'm cranky, and I'm in a DanceSlump as of late.
It happens to the best of us, I know. Plateaus and all. But is it really that common to feel as if you're getting WORSE? Blah.
Right now, I'd even settle for being a controversial figure in dance... you know, one of those guys that people hate to love and love to hate and so on. At least I'd be known for SOMETHING.
*A human bein's made of more than air
With all that bulk, you're bound to see him there
Unless that human bein' next to you
Is unimpressive, undistinguished
You know who...
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
'Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I'm there!
- Lyrics from the musical Chicago
So until I either drop someone on her head or cuss someone out or win a competition or do a quadruple spin without falling on my ass, I'm going to just be known for... not being known. Lindy Hop's Mr. Cellophane.
Saturday, November 30, 2002
When your lawyer won't let you say "I'm Sorry"
As I read more about the sorry state of affairs with regards to the "Catholic priest scandals" it occurs to me that what most of the victims would have liked -- and probably still would appreciate -- is a simple, heartfelt apology.
Imagine if folks in the Catholic leadership would have said early on:
"You have been wronged and we are horrified at what has happened. Here is what we will do to prevent this from happening again..."
This same approach would be similarly the 'right thing' to do in many other circumstances as well, I believe.
"We found that two of our regional banks were overcharging approximately 4000 of our customers on their checking account monthly fees. We screwed up, plain and simple, and would like to offer our humble apologies... a credit for the overcharge... and additionally three months of waived fees for the inconvenience."
But the problem is, many organizations are damned if they do and damned if they don't come clean.
If they admit to wrongdoing, people (including greedy opportunists and their facilitating lawyers) are likely to take this admission of guilt as a ticket to sue them out of existence.
And of course, when these organizations do the 'legally recommended' thing and simply deny and often cover up guilt, we end up in situations whereby harm is multiplied and -- when the truth is found out -- the organizations are often skewered just as mercilessly (and by that time, often for good reason!).
Of course, it's not just organizations that are put between a rock and a hard place. If I had a dime for every time an obviously guilty person pleaded innocent, I'd be a (very) wealthy man.
"Mr. Smith, you were found at the scene of the crime with blood on your hands, a knife in your jacket pocket... and you were screaming 'die die die you yuppie scum!' when the police came across you and the newly deceased man you were kneeling over. How do you plead?"
"Innocent, Your Honor."
Uh huh.
I wish there were some way we could promote a greater urgency of truth telling in our culture without creating such strong legal repercussions.
Saying "I'm sorry" should be a course of first resort, not the result of someone speaking without his lawyer's permission.
Imagine if folks in the Catholic leadership would have said early on:
"You have been wronged and we are horrified at what has happened. Here is what we will do to prevent this from happening again..."
This same approach would be similarly the 'right thing' to do in many other circumstances as well, I believe.
"We found that two of our regional banks were overcharging approximately 4000 of our customers on their checking account monthly fees. We screwed up, plain and simple, and would like to offer our humble apologies... a credit for the overcharge... and additionally three months of waived fees for the inconvenience."
But the problem is, many organizations are damned if they do and damned if they don't come clean.
If they admit to wrongdoing, people (including greedy opportunists and their facilitating lawyers) are likely to take this admission of guilt as a ticket to sue them out of existence.
And of course, when these organizations do the 'legally recommended' thing and simply deny and often cover up guilt, we end up in situations whereby harm is multiplied and -- when the truth is found out -- the organizations are often skewered just as mercilessly (and by that time, often for good reason!).
Of course, it's not just organizations that are put between a rock and a hard place. If I had a dime for every time an obviously guilty person pleaded innocent, I'd be a (very) wealthy man.
"Mr. Smith, you were found at the scene of the crime with blood on your hands, a knife in your jacket pocket... and you were screaming 'die die die you yuppie scum!' when the police came across you and the newly deceased man you were kneeling over. How do you plead?"
"Innocent, Your Honor."
Uh huh.
I wish there were some way we could promote a greater urgency of truth telling in our culture without creating such strong legal repercussions.
Saying "I'm sorry" should be a course of first resort, not the result of someone speaking without his lawyer's permission.
Friday, November 29, 2002
Corporate Communications B.S.
I'm sure most folks probably don't pay much attention to tiny-print and speed-spoken corporate admonishments and disclaimers and the like, but I find them fascinating all the same.
They generally fall into two categories:
- Warnings about potential socially-undesireable outcomes / safety risks, like "Don't drink and drive" and "Commercial filmed by stunt driver... do not attempt these maneuvers."
- "Small print" restrictions, such as stuff outlining extra fees and taxes.
Does anyone else find this stuff to be completely ludicrous?
From my perspective, these 'notices' completely fail to either persuade or inform.
Are teens really going to drive more responsibly because the 7pt text on the bottom of the sports car ad urges them to do so?
How about college students, and the "Drink Responsibly" urgings of the liquor industry? I can just imagine it now, "Ya know, Biff, I'm totally digging this frat party and normally I'd love another shot and all... but I just saw this ad today, and on the very bottom it said to 'Drink Responsibly' so I guess I better have a 7up instead."
I also love the contests featured on TV in which some announcer speed-speaks the terms and/or the terms are displayed with 90mph scrolling in tiny text:
This, of course, takes approximately 2 seconds or 2 millimeters, whichever comes first.
The drug TV ads are more amusing, however. Attractive housewife with husband and 2.4 kids and a dog are romping through a beautiful meadow, accompanied by bland-and-inoffensive-and-usually-unidentifiable music, all in the noble pursuit of making consumers aware that if they badger their doctors enough for this particular drug by name, they'll be saved from having to be prescribed an equally effective and considerably less costly generic alternative.
My favorite part of these commercials, however, is the breathlessly ejected warnings, which usually sound something like this: "Debtimaxinine may cause swelling of the small intenstines, hairloss, dry mouth, and other minor complications. In particularly severe cases, death may occur. Ask your doctor if debtimaxinine is right for you!"
Is a TV ad really the right forum to be even mentioning the pros and cons of taking a particular prescription drug? For that matter, is it really the best idea to be pushing potent childrens' prescription anti-depressants and the like on national TV anyway?
If our government were really smart, they'd put out the following bulletin to America's corporations:
They generally fall into two categories:
- Warnings about potential socially-undesireable outcomes / safety risks, like "Don't drink and drive" and "Commercial filmed by stunt driver... do not attempt these maneuvers."
- "Small print" restrictions, such as stuff outlining extra fees and taxes.
Does anyone else find this stuff to be completely ludicrous?
From my perspective, these 'notices' completely fail to either persuade or inform.
Are teens really going to drive more responsibly because the 7pt text on the bottom of the sports car ad urges them to do so?
How about college students, and the "Drink Responsibly" urgings of the liquor industry? I can just imagine it now, "Ya know, Biff, I'm totally digging this frat party and normally I'd love another shot and all... but I just saw this ad today, and on the very bottom it said to 'Drink Responsibly' so I guess I better have a 7up instead."
I also love the contests featured on TV in which some announcer speed-speaks the terms and/or the terms are displayed with 90mph scrolling in tiny text:
Send a 3x5 card to [ridiculously-long-and-hard-to-spell-address] along with a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Not valid in TN, WY, FL, GA, NC, SC, or states whose postal abbreviations contain two consonants. Odds are 17 in 48,819,901 or as determined by the jurisdictional laws and regulations of CA, unless entrant enters from NV, in which case different laws and regulations may apply. Taxes are the responsibility of the winner. In the case that winner is not of the age of majority, parents or guardians will be required to co-sign for delivery of prize, unless applicant is not of legal driving age in which parents will be required to claim and maintain ownership of any prize vehicles, excepting in Puerto Rico. For a complete list of terms and conditions, send a postcard to..."
This, of course, takes approximately 2 seconds or 2 millimeters, whichever comes first.
The drug TV ads are more amusing, however. Attractive housewife with husband and 2.4 kids and a dog are romping through a beautiful meadow, accompanied by bland-and-inoffensive-and-usually-unidentifiable music, all in the noble pursuit of making consumers aware that if they badger their doctors enough for this particular drug by name, they'll be saved from having to be prescribed an equally effective and considerably less costly generic alternative.
My favorite part of these commercials, however, is the breathlessly ejected warnings, which usually sound something like this: "Debtimaxinine may cause swelling of the small intenstines, hairloss, dry mouth, and other minor complications. In particularly severe cases, death may occur. Ask your doctor if debtimaxinine is right for you!"
Is a TV ad really the right forum to be even mentioning the pros and cons of taking a particular prescription drug? For that matter, is it really the best idea to be pushing potent childrens' prescription anti-depressants and the like on national TV anyway?
If our government were really smart, they'd put out the following bulletin to America's corporations:
CEO's, advertising agencies, and the like, pay attention! From this date forth, bullshit disclaimers will not carry any weight whatsoever in a court of law, nor will they fulfill any legal requirements for truthfully informing consumers about your products. You're going to have to do something shocking instead: ACTUALLY inform relevant parties (doctors, patients, people who buy or sell SUV's, etc.) of any substantive risks of your products.
Good news for you alcohol beverage producers: Despite your oft-questionable moral backbone in selling hard liquor to those who can least afford the drunkenness, we're going to actually side with the concept of PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY and PARENTAL GUIDANCE on this topic. We realize that requiring or encouraging you to post stupid pap like 'Drink responsibly' is never going to change behaviors. Indeed, we are not going to hold you responsible when some latchkey kid gets drunk and fries his housecat or when some schmuck drinks one two many and stupidly drives home.
But pharmaceutical company folk, wipe that grin off your faces. You've got a bit more responsibility here, since you've been often buying off doctors with expensive cruises, misleading the public with questionable claims, and basically squashing sales of generic or even herbal remedies that work with less expense and often less danger than your fancy-pants super-drugs.
We're going to require you to disclose your contributions to hospitals, doctors, and any other medical personnel, and we're also going to insist that you publish both plain-English notices about your drugs' risks, and also include a chart comparing their efficacy to relevant generics and even placebos.
Most importantly... boys... cut it out with the ridiculous 'disclosures' and 'disclaimers' that you know no one understands or even reads. Get real. Or we're gonna sic the same lawyers who won all the tobacco settlements on you guys, too.
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
Sick of being sick
Just a brief vent / whiny / self-pity exercise here.
I'm sick of being sick. I have a rager headache now (without an enjoyable party the night before to blame it on), and I'm congested. And of course, I'm scheduled to hang out with the fam tomorrow. Can't cancel on 'em, can't breathe on 'em, what's a guy to do?
I'd just smile and suck it up, but Jewish moms have a wonderous and frighteningly accurate way to know when your "I'm fine!" is a baldfaced lie.
So it's probably yet another cold, like my 4th or 5th this year. This sucks. I work out regularly, I eat well, I generally sleep okay. I even take vitamins, dangit.
Okay, so I'm just being a big baby right now.
Blah.
I'm sick of being sick. I have a rager headache now (without an enjoyable party the night before to blame it on), and I'm congested. And of course, I'm scheduled to hang out with the fam tomorrow. Can't cancel on 'em, can't breathe on 'em, what's a guy to do?
I'd just smile and suck it up, but Jewish moms have a wonderous and frighteningly accurate way to know when your "I'm fine!" is a baldfaced lie.
So it's probably yet another cold, like my 4th or 5th this year. This sucks. I work out regularly, I eat well, I generally sleep okay. I even take vitamins, dangit.
Okay, so I'm just being a big baby right now.
Blah.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Just wanted to wish you tens of thousands of loyal readers a Happy Thanksgiving -- or for those of you from outside the good ol' U.S. of A., a very Happy November :-D
We're already all reminded to be thankful for the obvious -- our friends, family, health, etc. -- but hey, let's take a moment to be thankful for 'other' stuff, shall we? Here's my off-the-cuff list of the moment of untraditional appreciation, definitely in no particular order:
- Google... yay!
- Culinary spices... cinnamon, cilantro, basil... yum!
- Towel service at my gym
- Finding quarters, not just pennies underneath my couch or bed
- Random e-mails from nice people
- Good green tea
- Days with no allergies
- My friend's Akita
- Tito Puente
- Jimmy Carter
- Salon.com
Lots more, but I guess that's enough for now :-)
We're already all reminded to be thankful for the obvious -- our friends, family, health, etc. -- but hey, let's take a moment to be thankful for 'other' stuff, shall we? Here's my off-the-cuff list of the moment of untraditional appreciation, definitely in no particular order:
- Google... yay!
- Culinary spices... cinnamon, cilantro, basil... yum!
- Towel service at my gym
- Finding quarters, not just pennies underneath my couch or bed
- Random e-mails from nice people
- Good green tea
- Days with no allergies
- My friend's Akita
- Tito Puente
- Jimmy Carter
- Salon.com
Lots more, but I guess that's enough for now :-)
No Sex (parodies) please, we're British!
I had no idea that by British broadcasting regulations, it's not permitted to parody living celebrities, politicians, or other famous folk without their permission.
As one British TV producer wryly noted, this could make for some complications in parodying Mr. Bin Laden since "he's a bit tricky to track down at the moment."
Due to this restriction, a recent commercial that, in part, parodied President Bush by having a cartoon likeness stick a DVD into a toaster, was nixed by a British advertising watchdog agency.
Really, now, that's a bit much. We all know that Bush likely uses only VHS tapes, finding DVD's to be Nice and Shiny, but a bit confusing.
As one British TV producer wryly noted, this could make for some complications in parodying Mr. Bin Laden since "he's a bit tricky to track down at the moment."
Due to this restriction, a recent commercial that, in part, parodied President Bush by having a cartoon likeness stick a DVD into a toaster, was nixed by a British advertising watchdog agency.
Really, now, that's a bit much. We all know that Bush likely uses only VHS tapes, finding DVD's to be Nice and Shiny, but a bit confusing.
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
The computer thinks I'm Gay and Pregnant
Ray Everett-Church of Fremont, Calif., who is gay, ordered "Queer as Folk" videos from Amazon.com. Understandably, the site began suggesting gay-related calendars and books. Then he bought a baby book for a pregnant friend. So for weeks, the site also recommended parenting books. He says it was as if Amazon.com decided he was "a pregnant gay man."
- Humorous-yet-serious article in the Wall Street Journal talking about how computers (like via Tivo and Amazon.com) profile us
Monday, November 25, 2002
"My, you're looking thin... AND very, uh, happy to see me!"
One candidate that Dr. Cummings described as the "darling" of obesity researchers would be a drug that could stimulate a brain structure called the melanocortin-4 receptor, to decrease appetite and cause weight loss. But side effects always loom, and one drug tested in animals made them lose weight but also caused erections.
"That may sound great, but when the erections are unsolicited and prolonged, that's a bad side effect," Dr. Cummings said.
- From an article on weight loss pharmaceutical research in the New York Times (free registration required)
If this isn't fodder for Jay Leno, I don't know what is. Newly-thin people getting "unsolicited and prolonged" erections, as described by a Dr. Cummings. :D
With friends like this...
"He's not a moron at all. He's my friend."
- Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chretien's amusing "praise" of our President, as noted in this Salon.com article
- Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chretien's amusing "praise" of our President, as noted in this Salon.com article
Sunday, November 24, 2002
Spectacular Stupidity
Apparently -- get this -- something bad is going to happen to us!
No, we don't know when. Maybe soon?
We don't know where.
We don't know how.
We don't know much of anything about it, actually.
Most importantly, we, your clueless ass-covering government folk don't even have any suggestions of what to do.
Er, no, wait. Be careful! Be cautious! Yeah.
---
Am I advocating that our government keep warnings from us? Not necessarily. But at least they could give us some guidance and actually encourage us to do something useful for ourselves and our neighbors.
For instance, if they had credible evidence that something was goin' down on the East Coast, perhaps they could encourage people in that area to donate blood or plasma. If there IS a horrible terrorist act, we'll be better prepared to help the injured. If not, I'm sure it all can be put to good use anyway.
Maybe our government could take just a teensy fraction of the ridiculous amounts of cash it spends subsidizing big business and upgrade a few thousand ambulances or create salaries for extra emergency personnel.
Sure, all of this would only help AFTER the fact, but at least that's something.
It's a whole lot more useful than the "Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid" crap that's being spewed by various government officials.
No, we don't know when. Maybe soon?
We don't know where.
We don't know how.
We don't know much of anything about it, actually.
Most importantly, we, your clueless ass-covering government folk don't even have any suggestions of what to do.
Er, no, wait. Be careful! Be cautious! Yeah.
---
Am I advocating that our government keep warnings from us? Not necessarily. But at least they could give us some guidance and actually encourage us to do something useful for ourselves and our neighbors.
For instance, if they had credible evidence that something was goin' down on the East Coast, perhaps they could encourage people in that area to donate blood or plasma. If there IS a horrible terrorist act, we'll be better prepared to help the injured. If not, I'm sure it all can be put to good use anyway.
Maybe our government could take just a teensy fraction of the ridiculous amounts of cash it spends subsidizing big business and upgrade a few thousand ambulances or create salaries for extra emergency personnel.
Sure, all of this would only help AFTER the fact, but at least that's something.
It's a whole lot more useful than the "Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid" crap that's being spewed by various government officials.
God's speech serves as valuable reminder
When I read about uprisings and massacres in God's name in articles like this, I'm reminded about a blunt and poignant speech made by God, clarifying his already-pretty-damn-clear "Thou Shalt Not Kill" guideline.
Saturday, November 23, 2002
Girls are pretty, boys are hardy
My blogger friend Jen just posted an insightful essay about Grrlpower and how women and girls are faced with the frustrating perception that femininity and power are mutually exclusive.
Without meaning to steal the female-thunder on this, I'd like to suggest that men face a similar conundrum.
When push comes to shove, we cannot actually be both Strong and Sensitive at the same time (despite this being an oft-requested combo in personal ads). Strong = masculine and manly and decisive. Sensitive = in touch with the 'feminine' site, thoughtful, collaborative.
Can you think of any CEO's who are respected for their strength and sensitivity? I can't. Er, maybe Meg Whitman (of ebay), but... hmm... any males?
Politicians? Hmm. Too often it seems to be stereotypically delineated by party label. Republicans = Strong (security, defense, upholding of paternalistic morals, etc.), Democrats = Sensitive (caring, community, health, etc.)
Why did Republicans sweep the recent elections? We're Afraid; they're Strong. Why have most Democrats become spineless booted-out-office-wimps? Because they failed to see how being characteristically sensitive (feeling our unemployed pain, for instance) could have been balanced against fears of national (in)security.
One day, we'll note that successful CEO's, effective politicians, wonderful potential boyfriends and great parents CAN have a mixture of Strength and Sensitivity.
Until then, though, girls will be girls and boys will be boys. And we'll keep talking and acting past each other, not with each other.
Without meaning to steal the female-thunder on this, I'd like to suggest that men face a similar conundrum.
When push comes to shove, we cannot actually be both Strong and Sensitive at the same time (despite this being an oft-requested combo in personal ads). Strong = masculine and manly and decisive. Sensitive = in touch with the 'feminine' site, thoughtful, collaborative.
Can you think of any CEO's who are respected for their strength and sensitivity? I can't. Er, maybe Meg Whitman (of ebay), but... hmm... any males?
Politicians? Hmm. Too often it seems to be stereotypically delineated by party label. Republicans = Strong (security, defense, upholding of paternalistic morals, etc.), Democrats = Sensitive (caring, community, health, etc.)
Why did Republicans sweep the recent elections? We're Afraid; they're Strong. Why have most Democrats become spineless booted-out-office-wimps? Because they failed to see how being characteristically sensitive (feeling our unemployed pain, for instance) could have been balanced against fears of national (in)security.
One day, we'll note that successful CEO's, effective politicians, wonderful potential boyfriends and great parents CAN have a mixture of Strength and Sensitivity.
Until then, though, girls will be girls and boys will be boys. And we'll keep talking and acting past each other, not with each other.
So what do YOU want to read?
You may have noticed that some of my recent blog entries have been more sarcastic than smiley, more political than personal. Perhaps that suits you fine, and perhaps it doesn't.
But worry not! By selecting links on the righthand side under "Bladam Categories" you can read exactly the entries that interest you, whether that be my musings on Dance, strange and wonderful photos, blatherings on travel, and so on.
Over time, I promise to make finding what you want to read even easier. And in the meantime, I do welcome your frank and constructive comments about what you find particular cool and uncool about my blog... contentwise, structurewise, anythingwise :-)
As always, thanks for reading! I write for myself, but I also write for you.
But worry not! By selecting links on the righthand side under "Bladam Categories" you can read exactly the entries that interest you, whether that be my musings on Dance, strange and wonderful photos, blatherings on travel, and so on.
Over time, I promise to make finding what you want to read even easier. And in the meantime, I do welcome your frank and constructive comments about what you find particular cool and uncool about my blog... contentwise, structurewise, anythingwise :-)
As always, thanks for reading! I write for myself, but I also write for you.
Friday, November 22, 2002
Friends and 'keeping in touch'
"Adam," my mom enthused, "You know, I was just talking to Aunt Elli, and -- remember her friends the Bronstiers? Well, their daughter Maura is now living in Oakland! I told Auntie to pass on your e-mail to her. Maybe you two can have lunch or whatever and..."
"Mom, please don't" I politely protested. "I don't need another friend right now. I need to be a better friend to the ones I've got."
My mom, bless her soul, was neither enlightened nor convinced.
"How can you have too many friends?!" she argued, "We're not talking marriage here, for Godsake, Adam, just lunch or coffee..."
I insisted more firmly: No. I felt guilty, but only a little bit.
Making friends is easy. Making GOOD friends is much harder. But maintaining or -- even scarier -- breaking off friendships? That's the toughest.
Rewarding? Hopefully. Frustrating? Often that, too. And sometimes painful along the journey? Yes.
---
My parents have lived in the same city -- actually, the same house! -- for three decades, and have been members at the same temple for about the same length of time. They have pretty much the same (many!) friends now as they did when I was growing up at home, and I am thankful for this, though admittedly sometimes almost envious that their social life is currently more rockin' than mine.
My folks clearly haven't had the same transience of friendships as I've dealt with, though, at least not recently. In just the last 10 years, I've lived and made friends in Evanston (near Chicago), Bloomington (near Indianapolis), Mannheim (in Germany), Boston, and lastly San Francisco, where I live now. Then there are the friends I have who now live in Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Costa Rica, and more than a dozen other countries. And no, I'm not counting "Internet friends."
All in all, I count more than 500 contacts in my addressbook. All are 'friends' of various degrees... former work friends, gym buddies, MBA colleagues, that couple I met while kayaking, and so on. To put it in perspective, if I were to contact each of these folks just once a quarter and spend ten minutes in the process, that's nearly an hour a day of just 'keeping in touch'. And while some of these folks can be "hello'd" in under 10 minutes, perhaps, quite a few deserve far more of my time and, yes, my friendship.
That's a lot of dedication per day. That's a lot of dedication in my life. And it's dedication that I have sadly failed in carrying out.
So, unsurprisingly, I've lost friends. Some got married and we seemed to have less and less in common, as we cross-talked about babies and babes, mortgages and job searching. Distance, too, has been a definite issue. Out of sight out of mind may be grossly clich?d, but no less a factor.
But marriage and distance account for only a part of the lost friendship tally. Sometimes people -- or their interests or needs or circumstances -- simply change, and, well, the friendship no longer applies as it once did. In these cases, sometimes it seems preferable to 'pull the plug' rather than watch the friendship slowly, painfully wither... with plodding uncomfortableness hidden under strained and feigned interest: "So, what's new?"
But who can bear to tell someone, "I don't think we should be friends anymore"? With similar wording, romantic relationships can be at least theoretically 'cut clean'. Employers can (and oh so frequently DO) nowadays sever increasingly dysfunctional work 'relationships' at the drop of a hat without even having to bluster through much of a rationale much less an apology. But saying goodbye to a friend for the last time? Who can do that?
"Let's keep in touch," we tell each other. Perhaps we mean it, perhaps we don't. More likely, we simply don't know where we'll be or how we'll feel in 5 years or even 5 months.
Thus, with faded friendships too often experienced and understandably feared, the challenge then becomes more effectively managing the remaining (500+!) friendships.
"Managing." So businesslike. Outlook entries, IM lists, Christmas-cards-or-not, form letters, ad naseum. Oh, for the days of the small village, tighter boundaries, and simpler world!
The answer, then, becomes one constrained by practicalities and too removed from idealism, but nonetheless clear. Prioritize, organize, and balance frequency of contacts with Quality Time. Remember birthdays, if nothing else.
Or better yet, call. In this age of D.I. (Digital Instantaneousness), the phone may seem so anachronistic, especially for us Geek Guys. But it conveys a warmth that cannot be duplicated by anything other than looking into someone's eyes and smiling.
Of equal importance is the concept of letting go. With direct goodbyes not a pallatable option, at least we should drift gracefully, honestly. As tempting as it is to promise future contact ("I'll write!"), 'tis better to follow our hearts before succumbing to conventional politeness.
---
No, Mom, I don't need a new friend. I have too many friends that need my friendship, and they've been waiting too long already.
"Mom, please don't" I politely protested. "I don't need another friend right now. I need to be a better friend to the ones I've got."
My mom, bless her soul, was neither enlightened nor convinced.
"How can you have too many friends?!" she argued, "We're not talking marriage here, for Godsake, Adam, just lunch or coffee..."
I insisted more firmly: No. I felt guilty, but only a little bit.
Making friends is easy. Making GOOD friends is much harder. But maintaining or -- even scarier -- breaking off friendships? That's the toughest.
Rewarding? Hopefully. Frustrating? Often that, too. And sometimes painful along the journey? Yes.
---
My parents have lived in the same city -- actually, the same house! -- for three decades, and have been members at the same temple for about the same length of time. They have pretty much the same (many!) friends now as they did when I was growing up at home, and I am thankful for this, though admittedly sometimes almost envious that their social life is currently more rockin' than mine.
My folks clearly haven't had the same transience of friendships as I've dealt with, though, at least not recently. In just the last 10 years, I've lived and made friends in Evanston (near Chicago), Bloomington (near Indianapolis), Mannheim (in Germany), Boston, and lastly San Francisco, where I live now. Then there are the friends I have who now live in Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Costa Rica, and more than a dozen other countries. And no, I'm not counting "Internet friends."
All in all, I count more than 500 contacts in my addressbook. All are 'friends' of various degrees... former work friends, gym buddies, MBA colleagues, that couple I met while kayaking, and so on. To put it in perspective, if I were to contact each of these folks just once a quarter and spend ten minutes in the process, that's nearly an hour a day of just 'keeping in touch'. And while some of these folks can be "hello'd" in under 10 minutes, perhaps, quite a few deserve far more of my time and, yes, my friendship.
That's a lot of dedication per day. That's a lot of dedication in my life. And it's dedication that I have sadly failed in carrying out.
So, unsurprisingly, I've lost friends. Some got married and we seemed to have less and less in common, as we cross-talked about babies and babes, mortgages and job searching. Distance, too, has been a definite issue. Out of sight out of mind may be grossly clich?d, but no less a factor.
But marriage and distance account for only a part of the lost friendship tally. Sometimes people -- or their interests or needs or circumstances -- simply change, and, well, the friendship no longer applies as it once did. In these cases, sometimes it seems preferable to 'pull the plug' rather than watch the friendship slowly, painfully wither... with plodding uncomfortableness hidden under strained and feigned interest: "So, what's new?"
But who can bear to tell someone, "I don't think we should be friends anymore"? With similar wording, romantic relationships can be at least theoretically 'cut clean'. Employers can (and oh so frequently DO) nowadays sever increasingly dysfunctional work 'relationships' at the drop of a hat without even having to bluster through much of a rationale much less an apology. But saying goodbye to a friend for the last time? Who can do that?
"Let's keep in touch," we tell each other. Perhaps we mean it, perhaps we don't. More likely, we simply don't know where we'll be or how we'll feel in 5 years or even 5 months.
Thus, with faded friendships too often experienced and understandably feared, the challenge then becomes more effectively managing the remaining (500+!) friendships.
"Managing." So businesslike. Outlook entries, IM lists, Christmas-cards-or-not, form letters, ad naseum. Oh, for the days of the small village, tighter boundaries, and simpler world!
The answer, then, becomes one constrained by practicalities and too removed from idealism, but nonetheless clear. Prioritize, organize, and balance frequency of contacts with Quality Time. Remember birthdays, if nothing else.
Or better yet, call. In this age of D.I. (Digital Instantaneousness), the phone may seem so anachronistic, especially for us Geek Guys. But it conveys a warmth that cannot be duplicated by anything other than looking into someone's eyes and smiling.
Of equal importance is the concept of letting go. With direct goodbyes not a pallatable option, at least we should drift gracefully, honestly. As tempting as it is to promise future contact ("I'll write!"), 'tis better to follow our hearts before succumbing to conventional politeness.
---
No, Mom, I don't need a new friend. I have too many friends that need my friendship, and they've been waiting too long already.
Thursday, November 21, 2002
Lawsuits -- Greed or Need?
In an earlier entry, I called attention to "yet another example" of an American legal system run absurdly amuck. In this example, a lawyer had sent a cease and desist letter insisting that a journalist stop using his own name in his byline, due to theoretical confusion over the lawyer's similarly named (famous) client.
Of course, it's easy, perhaps too easy to poke fun of ridiculous lawyer-speak and lawsuits, and for much of this, we have only the lawyers (and their misguided / greedy clients) to blame.
Or is it really that simple? An article in the New York Times instead insists that lawsuits are a logical and not-all-that-improper response to a decentralized government.
People have used the tort system to rightfully take on major causes -- product safety, womens' rights, and so forth -- that our American legislature was unable or unwilling to tackle.
As some of you may be aware, I'm a law school graduate myself, and yes, I'm admittedly torn about this. Just as the New York Times article highlights, our tort system is based upon adversarial relationships, which understandably is sometimes neither desireable, efficient, nor fair. But on the other hand, it is true that with our government in the pocket of Big Business, there aren't many other existing means for the common guy to take on, say, General Motors.
All that said, however, I still strongly believe that our tort system is but a bandaid on the sores inflicted by a government which has thoroughly abdicated its proper role as a progressive and reliable watchdog... one with more bite than bark. Americans CAN (and sure, often do) sue large industrial companies for knowingly poisoning the populace, but it'd be so much better if our government actually did its job and protected our health and our environment without us having to fight tooth and nail for this 'privilege.'
Of course, it's easy, perhaps too easy to poke fun of ridiculous lawyer-speak and lawsuits, and for much of this, we have only the lawyers (and their misguided / greedy clients) to blame.
Or is it really that simple? An article in the New York Times instead insists that lawsuits are a logical and not-all-that-improper response to a decentralized government.
People have used the tort system to rightfully take on major causes -- product safety, womens' rights, and so forth -- that our American legislature was unable or unwilling to tackle.
As some of you may be aware, I'm a law school graduate myself, and yes, I'm admittedly torn about this. Just as the New York Times article highlights, our tort system is based upon adversarial relationships, which understandably is sometimes neither desireable, efficient, nor fair. But on the other hand, it is true that with our government in the pocket of Big Business, there aren't many other existing means for the common guy to take on, say, General Motors.
All that said, however, I still strongly believe that our tort system is but a bandaid on the sores inflicted by a government which has thoroughly abdicated its proper role as a progressive and reliable watchdog... one with more bite than bark. Americans CAN (and sure, often do) sue large industrial companies for knowingly poisoning the populace, but it'd be so much better if our government actually did its job and protected our health and our environment without us having to fight tooth and nail for this 'privilege.'
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
For the kids! For the kids!
Best way for politicians to pander to the Religious Right and much of middle America? Pass a law to protect kids!
It doesn't matter if your law actually results in helping kids. It doesn't matter if it actually results in harm to those some children. What counts is that you're actually winning the hearts and votes of soccer moms all over the country.
More importantly, how could you ever vote AGAINST kids? You won't support library filtering? You WANT our kids exposed to filth... with our taxes? Kiss goodbye to reelection.
A current example of this hypocritical frenzy is the congressional establishment of a new kids.us domain. No one has offered how this is supposed to work in practice, or even provided any evidence to suggest that it's actually a good idea in the first place. But really, what congresscritter could afford to face attack ads claiming: "Senator Smith voted against protecting your children from pornography and gambling on the net"?
From a practical perspective, I can't see how this new domain would be beneficial in any way.
Let's say schools and libraries decided to limit kids to browsing ONLY sites in this domain. How could this possibly work for both a five year old and a twelve year old, with such vastly different capacities for absorbing and synthesizing info?
Even if such access restrictions were thrust upon only elementary school kids, what content would be designated as 'kid-friendly'? In particularly what about such borderline resources as dictionaries (could be some bad words!), news sites (disturbing content), international pen pal forums (all those pedophiles!), and so on?
What incentive would companies have to even create and maintain content for this domain and this demographic, especially when such efforts would require extra work on top of existing .com (and .uk, .ca, etc.) sites?
What if 'questionable content' was found on a site in kids.us? Would the offending site be immediately removed? Could parents sue? Would there be criminal sanctions?
In a nutshell, then, the new domain is of questionable usefulness and has been ill-defined to say the least. I'm betting the Congress spent less than an hour studying the issue. After all, it's for the kids! Who could say no?
Want to know more? Read articles here.
It doesn't matter if your law actually results in helping kids. It doesn't matter if it actually results in harm to those some children. What counts is that you're actually winning the hearts and votes of soccer moms all over the country.
More importantly, how could you ever vote AGAINST kids? You won't support library filtering? You WANT our kids exposed to filth... with our taxes? Kiss goodbye to reelection.
A current example of this hypocritical frenzy is the congressional establishment of a new kids.us domain. No one has offered how this is supposed to work in practice, or even provided any evidence to suggest that it's actually a good idea in the first place. But really, what congresscritter could afford to face attack ads claiming: "Senator Smith voted against protecting your children from pornography and gambling on the net"?
From a practical perspective, I can't see how this new domain would be beneficial in any way.
Let's say schools and libraries decided to limit kids to browsing ONLY sites in this domain. How could this possibly work for both a five year old and a twelve year old, with such vastly different capacities for absorbing and synthesizing info?
Even if such access restrictions were thrust upon only elementary school kids, what content would be designated as 'kid-friendly'? In particularly what about such borderline resources as dictionaries (could be some bad words!), news sites (disturbing content), international pen pal forums (all those pedophiles!), and so on?
What incentive would companies have to even create and maintain content for this domain and this demographic, especially when such efforts would require extra work on top of existing .com (and .uk, .ca, etc.) sites?
What if 'questionable content' was found on a site in kids.us? Would the offending site be immediately removed? Could parents sue? Would there be criminal sanctions?
In a nutshell, then, the new domain is of questionable usefulness and has been ill-defined to say the least. I'm betting the Congress spent less than an hour studying the issue. After all, it's for the kids! Who could say no?
Want to know more? Read articles here.
Sunday, November 17, 2002
Friday, November 15, 2002
Common sense up in smoke
District Judge Thomas Gilbert has taken indefinite voluntary leave from his duties after he was spotted smoking the joint at a Rolling Stones concert at Ford Field in Detroit.
- news item on ananova.com, November 9, 2002
Am I in the minority for seeing this as absolutely absurd? Can you imagine a similar situation in which a cop caught speeding tearfully turns in his badge the next day? Oh wait, there's a key difference: the judge in the above story wasn't endangering anyone's life.
In a written statement Mr Gilbert said: "I broke the law by twice puffing on a marijuana cigarette during a rock concert. I deeply regret this error in judgment, for I have let down my fellow judges, the court staff, my family, and the community."
Could this not have appeared in The Onion without anyone blinking? What will it take for our American society to join the rest of the industrialized, civilized world and stop the guilt and -- more importantly -- stop the absolutely asinine "War on Drugs"?
I'm not all that fond of the concept of 'wars' on anything, frankly, but if we must use macho language to hammer home political themes, how about a War on Poverty (but this time, finish the job)? Or a War on Domestic Abuse?
I'm also all for a "War on Political Opportunism and Far Right Pandering" but I don't think even the spineless Democrats in office would be any help with that.
Simple relationship truths
- We want what we cannot have.
- We want what we do not have.
- When we have something, we want something else.
- This doesn't mean we cannot enjoy what we have.
- We have great advice for everyones' problems but don't follow our own advice.
- It's easier to bitch than to change.
- We cannot change others. Really.
- Women assume all men just want sex. They're wrong.
- Men assume all women want commitment. They're wrong.
- Men and women don't really love what the media suggests we love.
- If you're not getting hurt, you're not living.
- Seeking love is expensive. Love itself is priceless.
- Online dating attracts some real creeps. Just like offline dating.
- Attraction is >90% non-verbal. You cannot really be in love with someone without seeing them in person.
- Swing dancing is a great way to meet a special someone.
- Swing dancing is a sucky way to meet a special someone.
- See that 'unattractive' guy and his hottie girlfriend and visa versa? There's hope.
- Not sure how you're coming across (e.g., desperate, too flirtatious, cold, etc.)? Buy a friend (not a best friend) a drink, ask a few questions, and you'll know. You may cry, but you'll know.
- You're not the only one depressed by the pukey pda in the park.
- Work out. You'll look more attractive in the long run and exercise = endorphins which make you FEEL better, too.
- Keeping a journal helps you sort out your thoughts. Just beware / be aware of who reads it.
- Just because I'm writing this on a Friday night does not mean I'm a lame ass :D
[Originally written and posted by me on a national swing dance board]
- We want what we do not have.
- When we have something, we want something else.
- This doesn't mean we cannot enjoy what we have.
- We have great advice for everyones' problems but don't follow our own advice.
- It's easier to bitch than to change.
- We cannot change others. Really.
- Women assume all men just want sex. They're wrong.
- Men assume all women want commitment. They're wrong.
- Men and women don't really love what the media suggests we love.
- If you're not getting hurt, you're not living.
- Seeking love is expensive. Love itself is priceless.
- Online dating attracts some real creeps. Just like offline dating.
- Attraction is >90% non-verbal. You cannot really be in love with someone without seeing them in person.
- Swing dancing is a great way to meet a special someone.
- Swing dancing is a sucky way to meet a special someone.
- See that 'unattractive' guy and his hottie girlfriend and visa versa? There's hope.
- Not sure how you're coming across (e.g., desperate, too flirtatious, cold, etc.)? Buy a friend (not a best friend) a drink, ask a few questions, and you'll know. You may cry, but you'll know.
- You're not the only one depressed by the pukey pda in the park.
- Work out. You'll look more attractive in the long run and exercise = endorphins which make you FEEL better, too.
- Keeping a journal helps you sort out your thoughts. Just beware / be aware of who reads it.
- Just because I'm writing this on a Friday night does not mean I'm a lame ass :D
[Originally written and posted by me on a national swing dance board]
Thursday, November 14, 2002
Yet more evidence that "Military Intelligence" is an oxymoron
Nine Army linguists, including six trained to speak Arabic, have been dismissed from the military because they are gay.
- from an AP newswire article on November 14
Pathetic.
Here we have the world's greatest superpower, which also happens to be sorely and dangerously lacking in military personnel who can speak critical foreign languages, dismissing folks because of their sexual predilection.
It sometimes takes years to kick out sexual harrassers in the military, and my understanding is that harrassment against women officers is still very much a problem in the military.
But it takes just one admission or shred of evidence to highlight someone's homosexuality, and boom, they're out the door.
How ironic that we trumpet Freedom with a capital F around the world and decry discrimination around the world, yet somehow can't manage to break out of our own homophobia.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Idea for Compulsory Service in America
I think America should have compulsory service (military/humanitarian) for all 18 year olds, male and female.
Germany and many other democratic countries have compulsory service, though many only require men to serve, which I think is ridiculous.
I'd like to see our country require every 18 year old to serve one year in either a branch of the military or in civil service, with the latter including teaching in an underprivileged area, road construction, aid to seniors, etc.
No one would be exempt, period. No deferrals, no buying your way out of it, no nothing. Everyone could -- and IMHO should -- help our country in some way.
College would then (optionally) start at age 19 for most folks.
In exchange for a very modest housing/food coverage, the government -- and our country -- would get new roads built, more English-proficient youngsters (via bilingual ed assistance), more cared-for seniors, and so on.
Also, our military would likely contain a higher percentage of more-educated and upper-class youth.
Another nice side benefit would be that kids would enter college with some additional real-life experience and perhaps a bit more maturity, not to mention an appreciation for the likely-easier student life.
And lastly, I sincerely believe this requirement would add to civic pride and bring meaning to citizenship beyond merely taxation obligations and oft-ignored voting rights.
I don't have any illusions that this would ever happen in America. In the aggregate we're too individualistic at the expense of caring about our community and we're too, well, damn selfish.
But I can dream.
What do you think about this idea of compulsory service?
And have any of you actually lived in countries that already require such 'giving' back to the State?
[ I posted the note above in the 'kitchen sink' (anything goes) topic of a national swing dance board ("Yehoodi"). Read the ensuing (vigorous!) debate here. Feel free to add your own thoughts either (or both!) in the comments section on this blog, or directly at Yehoodi if you wish. ]
Germany and many other democratic countries have compulsory service, though many only require men to serve, which I think is ridiculous.
I'd like to see our country require every 18 year old to serve one year in either a branch of the military or in civil service, with the latter including teaching in an underprivileged area, road construction, aid to seniors, etc.
No one would be exempt, period. No deferrals, no buying your way out of it, no nothing. Everyone could -- and IMHO should -- help our country in some way.
College would then (optionally) start at age 19 for most folks.
In exchange for a very modest housing/food coverage, the government -- and our country -- would get new roads built, more English-proficient youngsters (via bilingual ed assistance), more cared-for seniors, and so on.
Also, our military would likely contain a higher percentage of more-educated and upper-class youth.
Another nice side benefit would be that kids would enter college with some additional real-life experience and perhaps a bit more maturity, not to mention an appreciation for the likely-easier student life.
And lastly, I sincerely believe this requirement would add to civic pride and bring meaning to citizenship beyond merely taxation obligations and oft-ignored voting rights.
I don't have any illusions that this would ever happen in America. In the aggregate we're too individualistic at the expense of caring about our community and we're too, well, damn selfish.
But I can dream.
What do you think about this idea of compulsory service?
And have any of you actually lived in countries that already require such 'giving' back to the State?
[ I posted the note above in the 'kitchen sink' (anything goes) topic of a national swing dance board ("Yehoodi"). Read the ensuing (vigorous!) debate here. Feel free to add your own thoughts either (or both!) in the comments section on this blog, or directly at Yehoodi if you wish. ]
Saturday, November 9, 2002
Sinful thoughts
A wise old nun was once asked, "Do you ever entertain sinful thoughts?"
"No," she replied, "they entertain me."
"No," she replied, "they entertain me."
Friday, November 8, 2002
On fire
Pot of wine with spices (with a special German name that I forget!) is lit on fire, then happily sipped on this cozy New Year's Eve with friends in Viernheim, Germany.
Click on the photo for a larger version.
Wednesday, November 6, 2002
"They don't resent our wealth, just what we do with it"
I lived and worked for a year in Germany, and was often amused and sometimes appalled at how others saw America and Americans.
For a warm-fuzzy look at this, check out my essay "on being human."
For a more scholarly, serious, and sobering examination, read this interview with Mark Hertsgaard, author of a book that examines just how the rest of the world sees the U.S.
For a warm-fuzzy look at this, check out my essay "on being human."
For a more scholarly, serious, and sobering examination, read this interview with Mark Hertsgaard, author of a book that examines just how the rest of the world sees the U.S.
The people spoke (and I cry)
Some charming samples of "democracy," according to Nevada in the election yesterday.
- Smoke a joint, (still) go to jail.
- Want to marry your same-sex partner? Go to hell.
Republicans are gloating that yesterday signaled a mandate for their 'causes.'
Somehow I just can't get myself to see <50% voter turnout as a mandate of anything except apathy and disenfranchisement.
I wonder if there's something to the whole compulsory voting thing, like they have in Australia. But I think that's material for another entry.
- Smoke a joint, (still) go to jail.
- Want to marry your same-sex partner? Go to hell.
Republicans are gloating that yesterday signaled a mandate for their 'causes.'
Somehow I just can't get myself to see <50% voter turnout as a mandate of anything except apathy and disenfranchisement.
I wonder if there's something to the whole compulsory voting thing, like they have in Australia. But I think that's material for another entry.
Tuesday, November 5, 2002
Voting
I've heard there may be, well, a few folks in the U.S. who won't be voting today.
My feeling on the matter is clear: Barring extenuating circumstances, failing to vote is laziness or misguidedness. It is not a vote for change, or a vote for protest. It is simply not a vote.
Don't like the candidates from the 'big' parties? Research about the candidates from the non-mainstream parties and find which are closest to your views.
Can't find ANYONE at all to vote for for the big races? Well, in most jurisdictions, there are still many propositions, school board members, and many other local officials to vote for. Keep in mind that some of the most charming "I don't believe in science / evolution" schoolboard members have been elected in our country due to voter apathy and inaction, probably from folks who were just 'conscientious objectors' to the voting process. So yeah, those votes do make a difference, they really do.
So steamed about the process that you can't even stomach supporting any proposition or any person? At least go to vote and submit an empty ballot. That says that at least you cared enough to vote.
In Australia, voting is mandatory, and -- from what my Australian friends have told me -- few grumble about it there.
I know that no countries and no political systems are perfect, but something tells me that they likely have fewer [bleep'd] up politicians there and less corruption than we have.
Back here in the U.S., you can write letters, you can be "aware," you can know the candidate's brothers' wife's standard poodle's favorite dinner food, but until you punch that ballot or hit that touch screen, you're still giving up not only one of your rights, but IMHO, one of your responsibilities.
What concerns me most is that, as others have noted, the lower that voter turnout dips, the more inclined our local and federal governments are to simply ignore The People. You can claim that you're sending a message, and indeed you are. The message is: Tax me more, [bleep] up my medical care, meddle with other countries' governments, mess up the environment, spend public assistance money on campaign airfare, screw me over! I'm going to stay home with my Cheetos because I don't care what you fatcats do. You're certainly not accountable to ME!
At minimum, promise me, promise everyone that you're not gonna bitch one iota about our society unless you voted, or until you do vote next time 'round.
Thanks.
My feeling on the matter is clear: Barring extenuating circumstances, failing to vote is laziness or misguidedness. It is not a vote for change, or a vote for protest. It is simply not a vote.
Don't like the candidates from the 'big' parties? Research about the candidates from the non-mainstream parties and find which are closest to your views.
Can't find ANYONE at all to vote for for the big races? Well, in most jurisdictions, there are still many propositions, school board members, and many other local officials to vote for. Keep in mind that some of the most charming "I don't believe in science / evolution" schoolboard members have been elected in our country due to voter apathy and inaction, probably from folks who were just 'conscientious objectors' to the voting process. So yeah, those votes do make a difference, they really do.
So steamed about the process that you can't even stomach supporting any proposition or any person? At least go to vote and submit an empty ballot. That says that at least you cared enough to vote.
In Australia, voting is mandatory, and -- from what my Australian friends have told me -- few grumble about it there.
I know that no countries and no political systems are perfect, but something tells me that they likely have fewer [bleep'd] up politicians there and less corruption than we have.
Back here in the U.S., you can write letters, you can be "aware," you can know the candidate's brothers' wife's standard poodle's favorite dinner food, but until you punch that ballot or hit that touch screen, you're still giving up not only one of your rights, but IMHO, one of your responsibilities.
What concerns me most is that, as others have noted, the lower that voter turnout dips, the more inclined our local and federal governments are to simply ignore The People. You can claim that you're sending a message, and indeed you are. The message is: Tax me more, [bleep] up my medical care, meddle with other countries' governments, mess up the environment, spend public assistance money on campaign airfare, screw me over! I'm going to stay home with my Cheetos because I don't care what you fatcats do. You're certainly not accountable to ME!
At minimum, promise me, promise everyone that you're not gonna bitch one iota about our society unless you voted, or until you do vote next time 'round.
Thanks.
Saturday, November 2, 2002
Friday, November 1, 2002
Death of courtesy, part II
This is not an original lament. And I am cranky. So I'll keep this short.
I'm sick and tired of people lacking a sense of common courtesy, respect, and responsibility.
When someone promises, that promise should be kept. Or at minimum, apologies should be forthcoming.
I'm tired of people not having the courtesy to RSVP even after a personal invite. Or worse, accepting an invitation, then bowing out at last minute due to a 'better offer.'
Some of it, I think, is San Francisco. People mistake laid-back for not-a-care which is ever so close to I-don't-care.
Well, I care. And it hurts. Maybe I should care less.
I'm sick and tired of people lacking a sense of common courtesy, respect, and responsibility.
When someone promises, that promise should be kept. Or at minimum, apologies should be forthcoming.
I'm tired of people not having the courtesy to RSVP even after a personal invite. Or worse, accepting an invitation, then bowing out at last minute due to a 'better offer.'
Some of it, I think, is San Francisco. People mistake laid-back for not-a-care which is ever so close to I-don't-care.
Well, I care. And it hurts. Maybe I should care less.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Truly scary
This is not a costume. This is not a wig.
This was not even taken on Halloween.
Clearly, it is scary nonetheless.
(Yes, this is me)
(No, this is not Normal Me)
Monday, October 28, 2002
Comparative risks, statistics, and ignorance, damn ignorance
People -- Americans in particular -- are not good at assessing risks, benefits, and statistics regarding them.
Thousands, perhaps millions of people refused to fly even months after 9/11, despite the fact that even if -- God forbid -- a jetliner was blown to smithereens every day, people would still be safer in the skies than in their cars.
I respect and sympathize with those who refused and perhaps still refuse to fly due to emotional scars and irrepressible deepset fears of flying, perhaps some of which existed prior to 9/11.
What I can neither understand nor respect, however, is the amazed indignation I received when I opted to get on a plane a few months after 9/11 and admitted that I had no fear whatsoever about flying. "Can you seriously tell me," a friend incredulously queried, "that you think it's SAFE to be in a plane right now?" Sigh.
Some might argue that, when given relevant facts and statistics, people act in a more rational manner. However, even when when we ARE given statistics, they're often horribly skewed and self-serving. Take, for example, an alarming hypothetical note that "Missing child alerts have DOUBLED in our city in the last year!"
Parents reading this might go into a state of panicked alert. What "Don't Eat Candy from Strangers" video should they buy? Do they need to talk to Little Sally when she's 2.5 years old or 3? Should they buy new locks for their front door?
They are not as likely to really THINK, however about what the statistics mean.
- Were the missing children abducted, or did they wander off at the local state fair?
- Has the public been more vigilant in reporting missing children? Have the police been keeping better records?
- And perhaps most importantly, what's the actual SIZE of the increase? If there were 2 'missing kid' reports in 2000 and 4 in 2001, does this change -- although significant from a "percentage" perspective -- really warrant any concern at all?
Worse yet, sometimes our irrational fears and/or poor grasp of risks leads us to make unfortunate choices, as highlighted by scientist and blogger David Harris:
Read more of what David has to say on the Sniper and Statistics here.
And in the meantime, pause for a moment or two whenever you're frightened or concerned by a situation or even statistic, and ask yourself -- in the grand scheme of things, what does it really mean?
Thousands, perhaps millions of people refused to fly even months after 9/11, despite the fact that even if -- God forbid -- a jetliner was blown to smithereens every day, people would still be safer in the skies than in their cars.
I respect and sympathize with those who refused and perhaps still refuse to fly due to emotional scars and irrepressible deepset fears of flying, perhaps some of which existed prior to 9/11.
What I can neither understand nor respect, however, is the amazed indignation I received when I opted to get on a plane a few months after 9/11 and admitted that I had no fear whatsoever about flying. "Can you seriously tell me," a friend incredulously queried, "that you think it's SAFE to be in a plane right now?" Sigh.
Some might argue that, when given relevant facts and statistics, people act in a more rational manner. However, even when when we ARE given statistics, they're often horribly skewed and self-serving. Take, for example, an alarming hypothetical note that "Missing child alerts have DOUBLED in our city in the last year!"
Parents reading this might go into a state of panicked alert. What "Don't Eat Candy from Strangers" video should they buy? Do they need to talk to Little Sally when she's 2.5 years old or 3? Should they buy new locks for their front door?
They are not as likely to really THINK, however about what the statistics mean.
- Were the missing children abducted, or did they wander off at the local state fair?
- Has the public been more vigilant in reporting missing children? Have the police been keeping better records?
- And perhaps most importantly, what's the actual SIZE of the increase? If there were 2 'missing kid' reports in 2000 and 4 in 2001, does this change -- although significant from a "percentage" perspective -- really warrant any concern at all?
Worse yet, sometimes our irrational fears and/or poor grasp of risks leads us to make unfortunate choices, as highlighted by scientist and blogger David Harris:
For example, I have heard some "experts" recommend that people should fill their car fuel tanks at places away from major roads. Doing so may reduce your risk - we don't really know by how much - but it will almost certainly increase other risks, such as the risk of being killed in a car accident because you spent longer on the road.
Read more of what David has to say on the Sniper and Statistics here.
And in the meantime, pause for a moment or two whenever you're frightened or concerned by a situation or even statistic, and ask yourself -- in the grand scheme of things, what does it really mean?
Friday, October 25, 2002
Ja! I'm going to Deutschland!
I finally got my ticket ($249 roundtrip San Francisco<-->Frankfurt with a very special special!), and I'll once again be spending Christmastime with wonderful friends in Germany.Of course, I can be a little cranky, and moan about the icky cold I'll be facing, the insane hassles of peak-time holiday air travel (in coach, no less), and so on. But aside from getting to spend time with great people, I'll also come back, once again, with a suitcase full of chocolate goodies.
Disadvantage: This makes me (literally) fat every year.
Advantage: This makes my friends fat, too, but they love me anyway.
And on a slightly deeper level, my twice-yearly trips to Europe remind me how much I miss about Europe (universally decent public transit, awesomely long and lingering meals...) and also how appreciative I am for the silly little niceties of America (like drinking fountains, non-smoking clubs, and so on).
Ah, if only there were a way to make an AdamCountry, taking the best of all the places I've visited and rolling it all up into one place that's warm but still with snow at Christmas, with delicious but non-fattening food, with people who are kind but also helpfully blunt when you have spinach in your teeth, and so on.
Yes, Christmastime is a time for dreaming, no matter what your faith, I think. :-)
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
Military joke
A general noticed one of his soldiers behaving oddly. The soldier would pick up any piece of paper he found, frown and say, "That's not it" and put it down again.
This went on for some time, until the general arranged to have the soldier psychologically tested. The psychologist concluded that the soldier was deranged, and wrote out his discharge from the army.
The soldier picked it up, smiled and said, "That's it."
This went on for some time, until the general arranged to have the soldier psychologically tested. The psychologist concluded that the soldier was deranged, and wrote out his discharge from the army.
The soldier picked it up, smiled and said, "That's it."
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Truth in HR advertising?
Topica offers our employees GENEROUS benefits. Medical/Dental/Vision, Life Insurance, Long-term Disability, 401(k), Employee Stock Purchase Plan, Salary + commission commiserate to experience.
For some reason, I'm just not all that eager to apply here.
For some reason, I'm just not all that eager to apply here.
Monday, September 23, 2002
My dating checklist
My own personal checklist.
Meeting someone to date...
AT A BAR: Unlikely (for me) at best. Plus potentially yucky, due to beer goggles on either or both sides.
AT ONE'S COMPANY:
Like meeting a woman at a bar (potentially yucky), not to mention potentially stupid and dangerous, especially if/when things go sour. Dating someone on your work team... really REALLY stupid.
AT MY CURRENT COMPANY:
Well, I kinda do this anyway while I'm looking for someone better. NOTE: I am currently self-employed. VERDICT: Handy (groan) but definitely lacking in the romance department.
AT THE GYM:
After over a year of having a crush on one of my kickboxing instructors, we ended up going out on one quasi-date, and then she fled the state two weeks later. Okay, so maybe she got a huge job promotion and moved to Arizona. But still, it was depressing. Other efforts at starting something romantic with gym friends have been less dramatic but even less successful. VERDICT: Not very good place for asking someone out.
AT THE LAUNDROMAT:
I'm one of the few folks at my local laundromat who speaks English. 'nuff said.
AT SCHOOL:
I recently took some extra-curricular classes at my local junior college. Like the above category, few of my fellow students spoke English (making teamwork rather, uh, challenging). The others were typically around 10 years younger than I am. VERDICT: Uh, no way, Jos?.
VIA PARENTS:
"Adam, I know this daaaaarling girl who would be so perfect for you! She has a great job, and she's smart and..." (click) VERDICT: These are the same folks that bought me THOSE clothes to wear to school when I was younger. Uh huh.
VIA FRIENDS:
This really just transpired last week:
"Adam, I know this girl who'd be awesome for ya... she saw your site and wants to meet you... and she's really funny, cute, 5'8..."
"Uh, I'm 5'6". She go for shorter guys?"
"I'll ask her!"
....two days later...
"Oh, I'm sorry, Adam! It's a no go. You're really 5'6"? You seem much taller....!"
(if I had a nickel for every friend who said that last part...)
VERDICT: Friends are well meaning, but not very good matchmakers.
* * *
So, gee, it's not surprising that the Lindy Hop crowd is lookin' better and better, eh?
Especially since I'm attracted to women with similar interests to mine (wow, imagine that!) and Lindy Hop women generally:
- Share my love of swing music
- Love to dance (duh!)
- Are at least a bit social
- Tend to be active / athletic
- Appreciate/admire/want to make violent love with musicians
So, basically, what it comes down to is that the folks I really shouldn't date (people in my currently-favorite and oft-attended 'scene') are those I have the most compatibility with and probably best chance of dating.
These are, however, also the same women that I am reluctant to ask out for reasons that are probably obvious to most of us. I mean, when we see each other every week (or sometimes more often), it's a little transparent to ask a woman out to dinner or a movie or whatever.
Ironic, frustrating. Maybe I just need to start going to out-of-town dance exchanges :D
Meeting someone to date...
AT A BAR: Unlikely (for me) at best. Plus potentially yucky, due to beer goggles on either or both sides.
AT ONE'S COMPANY:
Like meeting a woman at a bar (potentially yucky), not to mention potentially stupid and dangerous, especially if/when things go sour. Dating someone on your work team... really REALLY stupid.
AT MY CURRENT COMPANY:
Well, I kinda do this anyway while I'm looking for someone better. NOTE: I am currently self-employed. VERDICT: Handy (groan) but definitely lacking in the romance department.
AT THE GYM:
After over a year of having a crush on one of my kickboxing instructors, we ended up going out on one quasi-date, and then she fled the state two weeks later. Okay, so maybe she got a huge job promotion and moved to Arizona. But still, it was depressing. Other efforts at starting something romantic with gym friends have been less dramatic but even less successful. VERDICT: Not very good place for asking someone out.
AT THE LAUNDROMAT:
I'm one of the few folks at my local laundromat who speaks English. 'nuff said.
AT SCHOOL:
I recently took some extra-curricular classes at my local junior college. Like the above category, few of my fellow students spoke English (making teamwork rather, uh, challenging). The others were typically around 10 years younger than I am. VERDICT: Uh, no way, Jos?.
VIA PARENTS:
"Adam, I know this daaaaarling girl who would be so perfect for you! She has a great job, and she's smart and..." (click) VERDICT: These are the same folks that bought me THOSE clothes to wear to school when I was younger. Uh huh.
VIA FRIENDS:
This really just transpired last week:
"Adam, I know this girl who'd be awesome for ya... she saw your site and wants to meet you... and she's really funny, cute, 5'8..."
"Uh, I'm 5'6". She go for shorter guys?"
"I'll ask her!"
....two days later...
"Oh, I'm sorry, Adam! It's a no go. You're really 5'6"? You seem much taller....!"
(if I had a nickel for every friend who said that last part...)
VERDICT: Friends are well meaning, but not very good matchmakers.
* * *
So, gee, it's not surprising that the Lindy Hop crowd is lookin' better and better, eh?
Especially since I'm attracted to women with similar interests to mine (wow, imagine that!) and Lindy Hop women generally:
- Share my love of swing music
- Love to dance (duh!)
- Are at least a bit social
- Tend to be active / athletic
- Appreciate/admire/want to make violent love with musicians
So, basically, what it comes down to is that the folks I really shouldn't date (people in my currently-favorite and oft-attended 'scene') are those I have the most compatibility with and probably best chance of dating.
These are, however, also the same women that I am reluctant to ask out for reasons that are probably obvious to most of us. I mean, when we see each other every week (or sometimes more often), it's a little transparent to ask a woman out to dinner or a movie or whatever.
Ironic, frustrating. Maybe I just need to start going to out-of-town dance exchanges :D
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
WHY does anyone still use AOL?
I don't get it.
There was a time when accessing the Internet was, to quote Barbie, "So hard!" Years ago, if you wanted to point-and-click your way to the Internet, AOL was one of your few (albeit odious) choices.
But nowadays, why would anyone pay $21.95/month for access that's slow, littered with pop-up ads (even before you get to the Web), and run by one of the most incompetent yet (IMHO) evil conglomerates on the planet?
Here in San Francisco, even some of my theoretically tech savvy friends use AOL. "I got it with my computer," one of my friends admitted sheepishly, well aware of what a dolt I think she is, "And I don't want to tell ALL my friends that I have a new e-mail address!"
It doesn't matter to this woman, apparently, that she can get much faster and more reliable (and ad-free) Internet service locally for $9.95/month for unlimited use. Or that her money goes to support a company who has singlehandedly dumbed down both the Internet and American news probably more than any other entity in history.
Okay, okay, so this rant isn't necessarily uncovering anything wildly new or shocking. But it was spurred by a piece of junk I just got in my e-mail, which features two physically attractive women chatting with one another, and one saying:
"He asked for my AOL Screen Name, not my phone number. Luckily I Joined for Free Yesterday.)"
Aside from the embarrassingly weird capitalization and punctuation, this raises a burning question: Has anyone, ANYWHERE, gone up to a woman and cooed in her ear, "Hey, baby... how's about ya tell me your AOL Screen Name, eh?"
I mean, of course, I've traded e-mail addresses with folks before, but sheesh! At risk of sounding like a total snob, if a woman's got AOL, this knocks her down one peg in my book.
"But, but..." you may stammer, "I get multiple e-mail addresses with AOL! I can access it with many different numbers around the country!"
Uh, true. But it's the same with, for instance, Earthlink. And MSN. And probably many other Internet services as well.
And did you know that when you view the Web on AOL:
- You're not actually surfing the Web. Each time you request a Web page, you're actually talking to AOL's server, which then goes and either fetches the page for you or sends you an old (stale) version that it fetched earlier, and then sends it along to you. Why does this matter? Well, it's slowing down your Web experience, and you may not even be seeing the most recent version of a page. Not so good for news sites, eh?
- By default, you're seeing crappily compressed versions of pictures. AOL compresses regular graphics into ".art" form, which is sort of like you ordering pizza and having the delivery boy squish your entire large pizza into a lunchbox so he can save space. Great for the delivery boy, but not so good for your pizza... or your stomach. Then again, with the Web pictures... maybe you LIKE seeing blotchy and less-colorful pictures. Who knows?
So to those of you on AOL... I hope you seriously think twice about your choice to pay $21.95 a month for substandard service. If you have any questions about switching, please don't hesitate to drop me a line. I'm happy to help in the intelligent fight against mediocrity :-)
There was a time when accessing the Internet was, to quote Barbie, "So hard!" Years ago, if you wanted to point-and-click your way to the Internet, AOL was one of your few (albeit odious) choices.
But nowadays, why would anyone pay $21.95/month for access that's slow, littered with pop-up ads (even before you get to the Web), and run by one of the most incompetent yet (IMHO) evil conglomerates on the planet?
Here in San Francisco, even some of my theoretically tech savvy friends use AOL. "I got it with my computer," one of my friends admitted sheepishly, well aware of what a dolt I think she is, "And I don't want to tell ALL my friends that I have a new e-mail address!"
It doesn't matter to this woman, apparently, that she can get much faster and more reliable (and ad-free) Internet service locally for $9.95/month for unlimited use. Or that her money goes to support a company who has singlehandedly dumbed down both the Internet and American news probably more than any other entity in history.
Okay, okay, so this rant isn't necessarily uncovering anything wildly new or shocking. But it was spurred by a piece of junk I just got in my e-mail, which features two physically attractive women chatting with one another, and one saying:
"He asked for my AOL Screen Name, not my phone number. Luckily I Joined for Free Yesterday.)"
Aside from the embarrassingly weird capitalization and punctuation, this raises a burning question: Has anyone, ANYWHERE, gone up to a woman and cooed in her ear, "Hey, baby... how's about ya tell me your AOL Screen Name, eh?"
I mean, of course, I've traded e-mail addresses with folks before, but sheesh! At risk of sounding like a total snob, if a woman's got AOL, this knocks her down one peg in my book.
"But, but..." you may stammer, "I get multiple e-mail addresses with AOL! I can access it with many different numbers around the country!"
Uh, true. But it's the same with, for instance, Earthlink. And MSN. And probably many other Internet services as well.
And did you know that when you view the Web on AOL:
- You're not actually surfing the Web. Each time you request a Web page, you're actually talking to AOL's server, which then goes and either fetches the page for you or sends you an old (stale) version that it fetched earlier, and then sends it along to you. Why does this matter? Well, it's slowing down your Web experience, and you may not even be seeing the most recent version of a page. Not so good for news sites, eh?
- By default, you're seeing crappily compressed versions of pictures. AOL compresses regular graphics into ".art" form, which is sort of like you ordering pizza and having the delivery boy squish your entire large pizza into a lunchbox so he can save space. Great for the delivery boy, but not so good for your pizza... or your stomach. Then again, with the Web pictures... maybe you LIKE seeing blotchy and less-colorful pictures. Who knows?
So to those of you on AOL... I hope you seriously think twice about your choice to pay $21.95 a month for substandard service. If you have any questions about switching, please don't hesitate to drop me a line. I'm happy to help in the intelligent fight against mediocrity :-)
Sunday, September 15, 2002
Pledge allegiance under God... but no breasts!!!
So once again, our brilliant U.S. federal government (with, sadly, probably the support of a majority of boneheaded citizens and ineffectual parents) strongarmed our students into the world of the Moral Majority.
Our kids are already forced to give up rights of search and seizure. Choir kids are forced to pee into cups for mandatory drug testing. And for years, student newspapers have enjoyed practically no first amendment protections.
Adding insult to injuries, now students' research efforts are being routinely hampered because the federal government has basically forced all but the wealthiest U.S. schools to install ridiculously bug-ridden Internet filters.
If you're student and trying to research breast cancer, forget it. And of course, anything dealing with information on contraception, sexually transmitted diseases, or -- probably in some cases -- even "sex discrimination" is undoubtedly more than the typical lame filters will allow. It's hard to know for sure, however, since the filter companies insist that info on what they block is strictly "proprietary." So heck, yeah, they say, we'll decide what your kids can and cannot access and study, but we're not going to let you, the parents, know any details!
But it's okay. Because Lord knows that if some of our children encountered a naked breast or saw the word "condom," they'd be scarred for life. And we all know that even sixteen-year-old students -- and for that matter, their local teachers and administrators -- simply can't be trusted to weigh the risks and benefits of filtering anyway.
Forgive my mock surprise here, but gee, you don't hear about Sweden or other European countries installing such filters. And unless I'm mistaken, their kids seem to turn out pretty well. They might even have a leg up on our children when it comes to studying Bucky Balls.
And boy, I guess THIS blog entry isn't gonna reach any American schoolkids, is it?
Our kids are already forced to give up rights of search and seizure. Choir kids are forced to pee into cups for mandatory drug testing. And for years, student newspapers have enjoyed practically no first amendment protections.
Adding insult to injuries, now students' research efforts are being routinely hampered because the federal government has basically forced all but the wealthiest U.S. schools to install ridiculously bug-ridden Internet filters.
If you're student and trying to research breast cancer, forget it. And of course, anything dealing with information on contraception, sexually transmitted diseases, or -- probably in some cases -- even "sex discrimination" is undoubtedly more than the typical lame filters will allow. It's hard to know for sure, however, since the filter companies insist that info on what they block is strictly "proprietary." So heck, yeah, they say, we'll decide what your kids can and cannot access and study, but we're not going to let you, the parents, know any details!
But it's okay. Because Lord knows that if some of our children encountered a naked breast or saw the word "condom," they'd be scarred for life. And we all know that even sixteen-year-old students -- and for that matter, their local teachers and administrators -- simply can't be trusted to weigh the risks and benefits of filtering anyway.
Forgive my mock surprise here, but gee, you don't hear about Sweden or other European countries installing such filters. And unless I'm mistaken, their kids seem to turn out pretty well. They might even have a leg up on our children when it comes to studying Bucky Balls.
And boy, I guess THIS blog entry isn't gonna reach any American schoolkids, is it?
So when's it okay to lie?
A very attractive acquaintance of mine, who once had beautiful flowing long hair, got her tresses cut, well, awful short :(
So short, in fact, that I wasn't sure it was her when she was in my arms tonight while dancing. "Hi, I'm Adam" I hesitatingly introduced myself, to which she replied with mock exasperation, "Uh, I'm [so-and-so], remember?"
She realized, of course, that I didn't recognize her because of her major crop job. And certainly, my expected response would have been "You look great."
But I didn't think that was true, so I just smiled and apologized for my doofish inability to recognize her.
She smiled back, but I'm wondering whether she was hurt that I didn't compliment her on her new doo.
I might even have considered saying something nice, but I'm a lousy liar.
This, indeed, also explains why I never became a lawyer.
So short, in fact, that I wasn't sure it was her when she was in my arms tonight while dancing. "Hi, I'm Adam" I hesitatingly introduced myself, to which she replied with mock exasperation, "Uh, I'm [so-and-so], remember?"
She realized, of course, that I didn't recognize her because of her major crop job. And certainly, my expected response would have been "You look great."
But I didn't think that was true, so I just smiled and apologized for my doofish inability to recognize her.
She smiled back, but I'm wondering whether she was hurt that I didn't compliment her on her new doo.
I might even have considered saying something nice, but I'm a lousy liar.
This, indeed, also explains why I never became a lawyer.
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
Flowers in Manhattan
Click to see a larger version of this photo, taken in October 2000 from a random a florist shop street offering. It was scenes like this that made me frequently stop and appreciate the surprising beauty of the crowded Manhattan on-the-way-to-work hustle and bustle during my week-long business trip.
Monday, September 9, 2002
More thoughts on 9/11
I'm faced with a balancing act here.
I have strong feelings about 9/11... about our government's reactions... and about individual responses. However, I also want to be sensitive to others who may feel that excessive questioning or cynicism about patriotism and similar issues are inappropriate at this time.
Let me just say, though, that I find it highly ironic that there's seemingly a nationwide push now for companies to go 'dark' on 9/11. Most recently, I read about how many telemarketing companies have pledged not to interrupt us on this Wednesday.
How strange. Wasn't it our very own president who suggested that there was nothing better we could do than SHOP after 9/11? Remember all those American-flag-as-shopping-bag stickers all around the place that proudly trumpted "America -- Open for Business"?
Okay, so most folks would agree that the telemarketing scum aren't self-imposing this moratorium out of the goodness of their hearts; they simply don't want the bad PR from selling Florida timeshare units and getting screamed at by indignant Americans.
But wouldn't it have made more sense to have the telemarketers not just go home and loaf around, but instead make telemarketing calls on behalf of bonafide charitable organizations for free?
Imagine this... you get a phone call from someone asking for donations to the Red Cross or for -- this'd be wild but sweet justice -- aid for International Terrorism victims (not just US folks!).
While I hate all telemarketing in general, at least this'd be for a good cause... and might even actually even raise MORE money than usual with people in a somber or reflective or giving mood!
What do you think?
I have strong feelings about 9/11... about our government's reactions... and about individual responses. However, I also want to be sensitive to others who may feel that excessive questioning or cynicism about patriotism and similar issues are inappropriate at this time.
Let me just say, though, that I find it highly ironic that there's seemingly a nationwide push now for companies to go 'dark' on 9/11. Most recently, I read about how many telemarketing companies have pledged not to interrupt us on this Wednesday.
How strange. Wasn't it our very own president who suggested that there was nothing better we could do than SHOP after 9/11? Remember all those American-flag-as-shopping-bag stickers all around the place that proudly trumpted "America -- Open for Business"?
Okay, so most folks would agree that the telemarketing scum aren't self-imposing this moratorium out of the goodness of their hearts; they simply don't want the bad PR from selling Florida timeshare units and getting screamed at by indignant Americans.
But wouldn't it have made more sense to have the telemarketers not just go home and loaf around, but instead make telemarketing calls on behalf of bonafide charitable organizations for free?
Imagine this... you get a phone call from someone asking for donations to the Red Cross or for -- this'd be wild but sweet justice -- aid for International Terrorism victims (not just US folks!).
While I hate all telemarketing in general, at least this'd be for a good cause... and might even actually even raise MORE money than usual with people in a somber or reflective or giving mood!
What do you think?
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